


By Any Other Name

by cobaltmoony, L1av



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2017, Deception By Necessity, Depressed Steve Rogers, Explicit Sexual Content, Gender Identity, Genderfluid Bucky Barnes, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Mutant Bucky Barnes, Rimming, Spoilers for Logan, Suicidal Steve Rogers, Suicidal Thoughts, Switch Bucky Barnes, X-Men References, switch steve rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 17:29:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10971996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobaltmoony/pseuds/cobaltmoony, https://archiveofourown.org/users/L1av/pseuds/L1av
Summary: When mutants become too dangerous to the US government, Captain America is ordered to take out Bucky, a shape-shifting mutant and till recently, one of the government’s most loyal agents. Running for his life, Bucky yearns to be anyone else but himself. Steve, depressed and at his wits end, yearns for sweet release. Bucky, in the shape of a woman hides in plain sight, and learns that the hardest person to be is just himself.





	By Any Other Name

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is our RBB contribution for 2017!! Moony did the art and me (l1av) did the fic! Enjoy it!  
> The art that inspired the fic is posted first in the body of the text below! There's additional art at the end as well!

**Prologue**

Deep breaths. Bucky leaned against the brick wall. His chest rose and fell; his eyes were screwed shut. Blood was warm against his knuckles and he could feel his cells tingling, begging to shift and morph. Slowly, slowly he let them. Blue skin sparkled into the darkness of the alley. Brown eyes brightened to yellow as a balding head became lucious brown locks. He was no longer the middle-aged man who no one would suspect of being a highly-trained assassin. He was himself again, something he hated. Darkness twisted inside him, vines with sharp teeth that nagged at his soul. He stared at the blood on his skin, still breathing heavy. He’d escaped. He’d done his job. Serving the US was his life. Whatever made them win, win, win.

He was the monster they let lurk in the shadows. His face could twist into any person, any gender, any age. He could change his whole body into any pretty little lie they wanted to tell. He’d spin their story, do their bidding and bring down their enemies. What else could a man like Bucky do? He was a monster in the most literal sense. An ever-changing shapeshifter who was good at one thing—killing.

Bucky stood up. He walked out of the alley, his blue scales shifting and locking into new places, new colors, new textures. He walked into the stream of people, a man with a sharp jaw and gray eyes. His hair was neatly tousled. He straightened out his tie and put on a winning smirk. Women winked at him. Men gaped. He moved with an air of confidence. Each muscle moving with prowess that begged to be respected.

The monster among the innocent. He looked around, ever-aware that he could become any person in this crowded street. He could kill them all and they would never catch him. He gritted his teeth. He was leashed, tagged and collared. America owned him in the most literal of senses. He was a mutant, one deemed too dangerous to just be free. The X-Men fought for mutant freedom, but their cries weren’t loud enough, and the world wasn’t sympathetic. The enhanced, people like Captain America; they willingly submitted to the will of the world. No one was there to stand up for Bucky and so he’d been shackled.

Bucky didn’t start out this way. He’d been born like any other child. But then he started growing and his skin started getting itchy. His eye color started changing, his hair grew and changed to any shade he saw as people walked by. He became the monster at age fourteen. Their screams still reverberated in his head, a gong refusing to be silenced. If the world didn’t want him, fine. He’d do what they expected. He’d become the monster in their nightmares. He’d be the evil in the shadows. He’d be the sin that America was too afraid to take credit for. If no one would love him, then he’d be exactly what they all wanted—that monster—that killer.

Forever.

* * *

Three years. Bucky had been working for the USA for three years. He was nothing but the silent, loyal dog they wanted him to be. He’d never complained. He’d never questioned their motives on killing children, women, unsuspecting people and hell—their own civilians. He never talked back and he never failed them. Afterall, when a mutant could change into any person, the world never closed its doors to him.

It’s why the betrayal felt more like a parent’s hand slapping his cheek than the stilted _nothing personal_ spiel he’d been given when he walked into the CIA. At least he’d been smart. He never showed the government what he prefered to look like. He’d always been careful. He showed them his true self, but that didn’t matter, not when he posed as the face he should _have_ been had he not developed mutant abilities. He fought his way out of the building. They’d made him a monster and a monster he would be. He killed his way out, slicing through tender throats with sharpened fingernails, shooting through kevlar with guns he’d grabbed from the dead. He fought his way out and shifted into congressmen, CIA operatives, anyone who’d he’d seen in headquarters. He’d made it out with hardly a scratch, but that didn’t solve the rage burning beneath his skin or the sting from tears in his eyes.

He’d given himself entirely to the government. He was their ghostly blade in the darkness. He should’ve proved that mutants were capable of trust because _he_ was _theirs_. They broke that trust with _him_. When rebel X-Men took their plights too far, the USA took a zero tolerance outlook on the mutants. Their executions were ordered, their faces on nightly news so people could turn them over. Bucky saw many of his colleagues die. Not friends. Bucky didn’t have friends. He saw them put the children to _sleep_ and he actually thought _they wouldn’t do that to me, I’ve never threatened them_. But they had. He stepped foot in the building and was subsequently surrounded with guns that emitted sonic waves to disrupt his shifting abilities. He fought, kicking, screaming and clawing until he was out in the open world with blue skies above and betrayal nestled in his chest.

He spat blood. A woman startled by him as he walked along the sidewalk. He stared at her, his face unapologetic, heavy and burning. Hatred seared through him. It burned his nerves, choked his throat and stung his eyes. He hated every single _normal_ person. Envy ran deep, etched into the lines on his face, the crinkles of his palm. He’d been a murderer by age fifteen. The CIA trained him in weapons, seduction, intelligence and how to make a fucking _bomb_. They trained him to be a homegrown terrorist and now they’d _pissed him off_.

He swung around to the Foggy Bottom subway station. He navigated through people with ease, never staying as one person for too long before shifting into another in the hopes of making sure the CIA never found him again. He got onto the train and sat in a corner. He stared at his feet, grinding his teeth.

They’d betrayed him. And under all the anger, he felt the sadness. The only thing he had close to a family didn’t want him anymore. He sucked in a sharp breath, trying to hold it for as long as he could. He leaned forward, a shaky breath escaping his lips. He tugged the hood over his head and allowed the tears to fall silently to the train’s floor.

He cried all the way out of the city, knowing he could never go back home again. He was officially on the run.

* * *

“Well that wasn’t very smart,” Steve said. He leaned against the sleek table, a panel of windows spanning the wall behind him. Congress could be seen nearby, tourists took pictures of the building and along the way to the White House. Steve tilted his head to the side, a soft smirk on his lips.

“We’re aware.” the Secretary of Defense steepled his fingers on the table. His face was lined with years of frowns and the terrible position of making tough calls. Steve didn’t envy him. He knew the weight of making calls and bad decisions.

“So you brought an assassin mutant into CIA headquarters, thinking it’d be just an ordinary day to—kill him?” Steve taped a gloved hand on the shiny table. “And you thought he’d just be fine with it?”

“Rogers,” Secretary Ross began, “we thought we’d kill a mutant that poses as a high threat to the US government.” Thaddeus Ross and Steve didn’t exactly see eye to eye. There was bitter resentment between the two after the Avengers were disassembled and made into _private contractors_. They worked together, but the name Avengers, was no longer legally allowed. Again, accountability to someone else. _This document just shifts the blame._ Steve had hated it at first. Now he’d come to embrace it. It allowed him to just not care anymore. Steve was _done_ caring about the world and its problems.

Steve moved through the world like a half-living ghost. His body was present, his mind aware and alive. But he didn’t _care_ anymore. Everything he knew and loved was dead. Food didn’t taste the same, people didn’t talk the same. Cars sounded and felt different. He’d never gotten used to it when he tried his damndest. He _had_ tried.

Nat was great. Sam was great. Tony was—okay. There was still some issues between them after the whole Accords Act. Steve dug his feet in the ground about Wanda’s treatment and Tony just went right along with it under the guise of being able to protect her better. Steve thought she was old enough to make her own damn decisions. Steve signed the damn thing after the rebel X-Men tried to destroy DC over it. He’d been wrong to believe anonymity protected people from mutants of dangerous calibers. He’d been wrong about all of them.

Mutant or enhanced, they were cursed with abilities no ordinary person had. It was only fair they were held to higher standards, like a doctor with a higher standard of care for simply being a doctor. That argument was shoved in his face so much that he could feel it against his skin. He’d lost the battle, no leg to stand on after the rebels attacked. He’d been strong-armed into signing the Accords and it was something that felt foul in his mouth ever since. But that didn’t mean Steve had to _care_ about it anymore. In his mind, he’d checked out long ago. He didn’t have anything to fight over—not really. Wanda was a catalyst, a last-ditch effort to pretend Steve was actually alive. He’d died in the Arctic, he just hadn’t been aware until it was too late. Now he paid for his mistakes. Becoming enhanced, he’d cursed himself to a duty he didn’t want. No one _asked_ him if he wanted to fight again. No one _asked_ how he felt about any of it. They just assumed, and now here he was. A man going through the motions because a fancy document told him he had no choice but to. He signed the Accords because of his own failure, but now he wished he’d eaten his hands off.

“Spit it out Ross, you want me to fix your mistake.”

Ross’ bushy brows pinched together. He looked far older than he really was. He was a hard man, voice of gravel and eyes blackened like his soul. Steve hated him.

“We need you to keep this private. No one can know,” the Secretary of Defense said. He looked to Ross and nodded. Ross nodded back.

“Because if we tip off the shapeshifter, you’ll never see him again. Wow, imagine if you’d only done that from the start.” Steve would hold nothing back. When a man didn’t care, he didn’t need to feed his words into an analytical blender to chop out the fat. He just said it all as it came to him. It was freeing, in a way.

“Rogers.” Ross stuck a finger up at Steve, his voice on the verge of anger. “Find him and kill him. Simple as that.”

“So the US can continue a genocide they’ve already won. You know I fought a war against genocide, right?” Steve crossed his arms.

“Those were innocent people. The Winter Solider is _not_ innocent. He’s a murderer. You really want to be the reason bodies lay at his feet?” Ross crossed his arms. Steve could see the blood vessel in his temple pulsing.

“I thought we had a judicial system. Let them decide if he’s a murderer or not.” Steve snatched the file. He was legally bound by the Accords. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t play with these fucks. “Enjoy your day.”

He left, a storm of heated energy sizzling around him as he stewed in his anger. He’d said it once. The safest hands were their own. He didn’t have hands anymore. They belonged to the government, stamped and made more than utterly public when the Accords got their tendrils around his neck. He wondered when the day would come Ross would put a bullet in his head. Honestly, the idea didn’t frighten Steve. He’d welcome the sleep.

At home, Steve did his research. He looked into the Winter Soldier’s most used faces, the way he moved and his violence pattern. He looked into his jobs, his missions and even read a few transcripts from recorded debriefings. He was efficient, dead inside—like Steve—and fearless. Steve admired him, in a way. He couldn’t judge if the man was really evil or just uncaring. Steve didn’t care anymore. Maybe the Winter Soldier felt the same.

Steve looked at the little tracker, watching the light flash over GPS coordinates. The government implanted a tracker in the event the shifter ever went rogue. In all the chaos at CIA headquarters, it made sense no one had used it. There were too many bodies and too much action. It was desperate and sloppy. Now Steve had time to plan. He looked at the picture of the blue man with shaggy hair. Sad eyes traced over the curve of his cheekbone, the dip at the hollow of his throat. He felt bad for him. This face hadn’t been his choice. He hadn’t _asked_ like Steve had. Mutants had no choice how their genetics formed. That’s what kept the enhanced and the mutant apart. Choice. Well, that and most mutants were dead now or dying.

And now the Winter Soldier would die because of his mutant genetics, because Steve’s hands were no longer his own.

* * *

Bucky made it to a small town in Kentucky. A couple of blow jobs on a few more than eager truck drivers got him far. He’d gotten used to pretending to be pretty blondes. Every uneducated troglodyte seemed to love pretty blondes with stupid minds. He’d been on the run for a week now. A week and nothing was said about him. The news was silent on mutants and mutant genocide. All attempts at trying to hold rallies for mutants ended up resulting in Iron Man and War Machine’s presence. Bucky snorted. Whatever happened to freedom to rally or have a fucking opinion?

He drank down his burnt coffee, wincing at the dirty taste. His bacon was too burnt and eggs were a little runny. He shoved the food into his mouth, wincing through it all. He needed to survive—not enjoy it. Food was a means to an end for now. He needed to get out of the US. He was already heading south, so Mexico seemed like the best place. He could make a good living working with the Cartel.

His bank accounts had been frozen, his phone clearly tracked. He’d left with nothing but the clothes on his back. He’d stolen some cash from the last truck driver he blew, but that wouldn’t exactly put him in a hotel. He sucked at his teeth, tasting burnt bacon. He needed money to get to Mexico. He needed a passport too. That wouldn’t be hard. He’d steal the identity of someone when the time came. Maybe a quick trip into an international airport would get him what he needed. Money, passport, Mexico. He had an outline. He just needed to make a plan and see it through.

He stood up, dropping a few crumpled bills on the table. He’d made sure to tip. Didn’t matter how shitty the food was, the waitress was a good girl and she deserved something to be happy over. Bucky left the diner, stepping out into the empty streets. He squinted, the sun too bright. The town had that air about it, like it was stuck in time or displaced. It had that overall eerie feeling, the streets sparse with people.

Bucky headed toward the truck stop again, thinking maybe he’d be a redhead this time. He morphed into one of the guys he’d sucked off up in Ohio. He didn’t want many to remember any of his faces. Didn’t matter if it was his, another man’s or not. He would shift as much as possible to keep people from remembering him. He lived in the shadows, all in plain sight and yet harder to see than air.

He saw a helicopter above and cringed. Dark panels, no identification. CIA. He slunk into an alley, shifting into a child. He scrubbed his face with garbage, getting the dirt and grime on him as best as he could. His clothes were too big, so he ripped them a little, making them look tattered and homeless. He sat down, content to wait till dark before he’d creep out. He’d maybe panhandle like this around the truck stop. That also sounded like a great way to get kidnapped… Probably not the best idea. But if anyone tried anything on him, he’d fucking _kill_ them.

Someone stood in front of the alley. He was broad, wearing a black shirt and dark blue jeans. Bucky’s jaw dropped. _Fuck_.

Captain America stood there, a needle in his hands.

“Don’t hurt me mister,” Bucky said.

Cap showed no emotion on his face. He looked dead, actually. A robot even. He moved into the alley and took his shield off his back. “Don’t make this hard on yourself.”

“You’re the one who’s gonna kill me!” Bucky stood up, morphing into Cap’s physique. He leapt from the walls and up to the roof. He rolled once atop, trying to gather balance  in Cap’s form. He was slightly top heavy. Shifting from a child to a man Captain America’s size took a second to get used to. Bucky shifted into a man with dark skin, lithe muscles and a _long_ gait. He snorted at himself. The Olympic gold medalist,  Eliud Kipchoge. He jumped from roof to roof, elegant with muscles designed for speed.

Cap threw his shield.

It hit Bucky in the back and he went tumbling. He shifted from Kipchoge into Cap’s form again as man met man. He’d always known what Captain America looked like. But this close, body heat rising and sweat mixing, Bucky became aware of something else. The hard curve of Cap’s jaw, the pinch between his brows, the redness of his lips. Bucky groaned, and he was positively sure it wasn’t because Cap just punched him.

He was hard in his torn up, dirty pants. He scurried out from under Cap, roundhouse kicking him in the face and then leaping on him. He shifted into his true form, blue scales glistening in the sun. He fought harder, faster—stronger like this. He could leap higher, land more kicks and pinpoint weaknesses. He knocked Cap over with a well-placed kick to the chest and then kept running.

He jumped onto another roof, far enough that Captain America couldn’t follow. He watched the other man’s chest rise and fall. The sweat on his brow. Fuck, there wasn’t a word for the raw beauty Captain America had.

“You can’t run from me,” Cap said.

“Watch me.” Bucky turned into Kipchoge again.

“You’re tagged!” Cap shouted as Bucky started running.

Bucky turned around, his brow furrowed. Why would Captain America tell him he was tagged, unless—did he not want to hurt Bucky?

The thought filled Bucky with warmth, a pool of warm water and light flickers of excited butterflies. He turned around once again and ran faster than before. He leapt from the buildings, grabbing a metal pole and sliding down it. He transformed back into a man who looked like a certified hobo. Grimy hair, gnarly beard. He kept his head low and his shoulders hunched.

Captain America didn’t follow him. But perhaps Bucky would follow Captain America. The idea thrilled him. He wasn’t sure if it was for his own sick amusement of cat and mouse or if he had other—more carnal curiosities. He’d fancied Cap, as any boy questioning his sexuality did growing up. Even now, Bucky was left rock hard in his pants. He turned right, going  into a clothing store, looking to one of the employees and shifting into her. He ducked a few times to avoid her, snagging clothing.

“Casey, what’re you doing?” another employee asked.

“Oh, just taking this to the back for a customer.” Bucky showed the outfit. Black jeans and a red shirt.

“You’re supposed to be at the register.”

“Yeah, I’ll be right back.” Bucky scurried to the changing room, shifting into a man of his own design, one he wanted to be. He snagged a hat, backpack and dress on the way out and ran. The girls shouted for him to come back, but he didn’t stop. He turned into the alley and shifted into Cap again, using his body to climb up the walls. The girls called after him, screaming they’d call the police.

Bucky didn’t care. He’d be in the wind long before they’d be able to describe what he looked like. Blond? Brunet? Could they even tell the difference? He smirked, dropping from the last building and heading toward the truck station. He’d shift into the blonde girl in the bathroom. He had a dimwitted truck driver to blow and some cash to steal.

* * *

Steve watched the GPS signal. It lingered around the truck depot for a long time before finally fading out. Steve smiled, relieved. He would officially never be able to terminate the Winter Soldier. He’d stay out, using up the government’s money and feeding them pretty lies about how close he was, but he’d never actually get the guy. There was freedom in screaming a giant _fuck you_ to the government. He’d be punished once they figured it out, but what were they going to do? Kill a national icon? They needed Cap more than Steve needed them. And even if they did kill him, Steve didn’t hate that idea either. He was _so done_ existing.

Steve parked his helicopter at a private airport not too far off from the tiny town. He hitched a bus back. He’d linger around for a day or two before heading off somewhere else. He had a whole vacation to plan on the government’s time. Vegas? Cali? Actually, he’d settle for a peaceful time at the Grand Canyon.

_Actually…_ Steve pulled a tiny black case closer to him, stroking the fabric reverently. His gaze lingered, despite the Appalachian Mountains outside. He swallowed roughly. The thought hadn’t occurred to him before. A simple rogue mission would demand some kind of punishment and Steve didn’t really _care_ to pretend anymore. This wasn’t his life anymore. He had no control. Steve Rogers was dead and the ghost of Captain America remained. He closed his eyes, holding the little black case to his chest. It contained enough potassium to kill a mutant. He was damn sure there was enough to kill him too. A nice trip to the Grand Canyon—and then maybe he’d use it.

Steve Rogers was done living for others. If he couldn’t live for himself, then what was the point? There was a semblance of freedom in that train of thought. The idea that the end was near brought peace to Steve’s thoughts. He didn’t worry so much about the future or how his life would turn out. There was a nice finality in knowing how it would all end. The great Captain America, dying of his own hand. The media would have a field day. His ma raised him to be a good Catholic boy, and good Catholic boys didn’t kill themselves. But God had given Steve no favors, only hell after hell. He clenched his jaw. It seemed now, Steve wasn’t a very good Catholic boy.

_Sorry, Ma._

* * *

Bucky stood over the bathroom sink, staring at his blood while it trickled down his forearm. He’d gotten the damn chip out after fishing through himself. He was all cut up on his shoulders, his legs and along his back where he could reach. He had to figure out where the fucker was, but he had it out now. He threw the thing into the toilet and flushed it away. Blood was a funny thing. No matter what shape Bucky was in, it was always red. It was like—he snorted—his body was trying to be human.

Bucky snarled at his blue form. He wasn’t human.

He grabbed a towel and wet it to clean himself up. Once the blood was cleaned away, he got out a first-aid kit he’d nabbed from the grocery down the street and went to stitching. Once that was all done, he shifted into the girl he’d decided on being. Round breasts, large hips and wavy brown hair. He slipped on his dress, looking at himself in the mirror. There were a few exposed cuts on his shoulders. He bit his lip. He needed makeup.

He left his hotel room and stepped out into the evening heat. Bucky didn’t care if he wore Urban Decay or something from the grocery. Makeup was makeup. He’d gotten good at it too. He stood at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change.

“Miss?”

He turned, a smile on his unpainted lips, then his eyes widened. _No._ He hadn’t been ready. He’d needed to gather up surveillance equipment and plan how he’d handle this. He needed to figure out if he really _was_ ready for this. He’d toyed around with the idea after their scuffle, but he was a planner! He hadn’t _planned_ yet! Cap was standing there, all dopey eyed and polite. He was smiling the cutest little smile in the most earnest of ways and Bucky was about ready to fall over and play the damsel.

Wait.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, a confident smile coming to his lips. That’s exactly what he’d do. What better way to solve his issue and his own desires. He wanted to _know_ Captain America intimately. He also wanted to live a normal life and disappear into the shadows. Maybe he didn’t need the Cartel. What if being Captain Steve Rogers’ little wife was good enough? Would that even happen? Could it? The hope in Bucky’s heart almost made him tear up. The very idea of being _wanted_ by someone stirred something so strongly inside him. He was lonely. So god-damned lonely. He played with his hair, trying his best to bring a kinder smile to his expression.

“Sorry—yes?”

“You’re bleeding.”

Bucky looked at the back of his shoulder, a thin slice. “Oh.”

“Are you in trouble? I could—I mean if—I just thought—”

Bucky’s heart swelled. Captain America was as endearing as the warmest hug someone could receive. His kindness knew no bounds and his ever-present sense of duty inspired so many. Bucky found himself falling for those little characteristics. Captain America—Steve—was a dollface.

And he’d let Bucky go…

“Sorry—I’m sorry—wow. I’ll just—” Steve pointed over his shoulder, blush dusting his cheeks. He started turning. Bucky reached out, grabbing his arm. Steve froze, his gaze snapping to Bucky.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky whispered. A woman’s voice. Deep enough not to be considered annoying but soothing enough to be comely. “You startled me—is all.”

Steve looked down, a shy smile on his lips.

“You ain’t from around here, are ya?” Bucky grew up in Indiana. He laid heavy on the accent. Men had a thing for southern girls and southern Indiana definitely qualified as that.

“What? I’m—no. No. No, sorry. I mean—I’m Steve.”

“Jamie,” Bucky said easily. James Buchanan Barnes was dead to the world, his name erased from the memories of so many by one Professor X. It’d been for his own safety, something Bucky was grateful for. Something he’d be forever grateful for. But “Jamie” was simple and cute enough. It held part of his identity, hiding in plain sight—like he always did.

“You hungry, Steve?” Bucky asked. “Wanna grab somethin’ with me?”

Steve looked to Bucky’s shoulder and then back to his face.

“My treat. Boy like you lost in a small town like this. I wanna show you off.” It was too easy to play a character. Bucky had learned the art of lying young. He tipped his head up, exposing his slender neck, hoping Steve would go for the woman he’d created. She was of Bucky’s own design. She’d been spliced from models and women Bucky came to admire. He smiled to himself. He’d even taken some of Peggy Carter when creating this persona. Everyone knew the love story of Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter. Call Bucky a cheat, but he knew Steve's type and he hoped that gave him an advantage here.

Steve let Bucky lead him along the street. Bucky took Steve to the shitty diner he’d eaten at before. He scooted into a booth, leaning a little forward so Steve could get a nice view of his tits. He giggled. Steve was almost too easy to read when he was stumbling all over himself. And this was the great Captain America? He could easily be defeated by a woman.

“Who hurt you?” Steve asked, all shy boy and smiles gone. His face was unreadable, just like it’d been when Bucky first met him in the alley.

“What?”

“I’m not an idiot, ma’am. You were attacked.”

Bucky looked at his shoulders and to his arm. He hadn’t meant to leave it exposed. The stitches were in plain sight and Steve was looking at them with a raised brow.

“Oh.” Bucky tried to cover the stitching with his other hand.

“I can help you. Take you to the authorities? I’ll protect you until we get it settled. I know that sounds like—”

“I know you’re Captain America,” Bucky said. “I trust you.”

Steve’s nostrils flared and he sat up straight. His whole demeanor changed from sympathetic to guarded. He swallowed hard, pressing back into the booth’s green vinyl upholstery. His eyes drained of their blue light, fading to a pastel sham of what it’d been once. Bucky’s heart sank as he watched the life slip away from Steve.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky’s whisper did nothing to change the ice that chilled Steve’s demeanor.

“I don’t exactly hide my face.” Steve tried to smile, but Bucky saw right through it. He’d been a mutant that excelled in the art of deceiving others. Steve couldn’t deceive him.

“I wouldn’t mind you stayin’ around and makin’ sure he doesn’t come back.” Steve had helped create the lie. Bucky would run with it. If it kept Steve with Bucky, Bucky would keep going. Mexico would be an escape from one line of danger into another line of danger. And the US wouldn’t stop just because Bucky had skipped the border. The CIA didn’t recognize borders. They only saw targets. The way to finally be free of the target on Bucky’s back was to do as he always did. Hide. In plain sight.

“I’m sorry someone hurt you,” Steve said in a low whisper. His voice rumbled in his chest and it took all of Bucky’s strength not to moan.

“Can I get you two somethin’?” the waitress asked in her Kentucky drawl.

“Coke please,” Bucky said. “Actually, make that a root beer float.”

“Same.” Steve smiled nicely at the waitress. Bucky liked watching the way Steve’s brows pulled together and the lines on his forehead wrinkled. He somehow made himself look _younger_ , despite Bucky thinking it should’ve been the opposite.

“Is he a boyfriend? You don’t have to tell me much, just enough to know what I’m up against.” Steve’s face smoothed out, marble instead of soothing downy.

“No, not a boyfriend. I don’t—I don’t got one of those.” Bucky laughed, trying his best to fill his cheeks with a red hue. He wished he had makeup on. “I do—well—I don’t think I wanna talk about it.”

Steve reached over the table, his big hand on Bucky’s lithe one. Bucky’s breath halted, his eyes wide. Steve immediately recoiled.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” Steve said, “I’m so sorry I didn't—I didn’t think.”

Bucky’s eyes fluttered, dazed at Steve’s recoil, the linger of heat on his hand and the way his belly was all in knots. He bit his bottom lip, trying his damndest to well it up nice and red. He licked at them, spit-shiny and full as they were going to get.

“It’s okay,” Bucky said. “You can—touch me.”

Steve pulled his hands off the table and Bucky was left feeling like someone stabbed him in the heart.

“I didn’t mean like that,” Bucky added.

“I know,” Steve said. They paused when their root beer floats came. Steve ate the cherry off his and Bucky ran a finger through the whip cream before sucking it into his mouth. Steve breathed loudly. Bucky watched the turmoil on his face. A storm was brewing along the plateaus of that brow and the valleys of those blue eyes.

“He’s just a trucker.” Bucky felt the need to fill the silence. “One of the mean ones.”

“Oh. _Oh!_ ”

Bucky felt dirty when the realization drizzled into Steve’s eyes. Steve thought he was a sex worker. He wasn’t sure if that would make Steve like him or keep a safe distance from him. Some guys didn’t like it. Some didn’t care. Some liked it for entirely different reasons. Bucky wasn’t sure how anyone would feel marrying one. He had no experience in the matter. He sucked on his straw. It’d been years since he had a root beer float. More than years. Decades. He was a little boy again, before the itches and blue rashes, before the change of his eyes. Just him out on a farm with the bleating of sheep and the neighs of horses. His grandpa serving up homemade ice cream floats while the sun did its hardest to try to give them all sunburn.

A pang hit Bucky’s heart, one he wasn’t prepared for. His grandfather died having no memory of Bucky’s existence. Professor X wiped it all away.

“Hey,” Steve’s voice, “it’s okay. I won’t let him hurt you.”

Bucky touched his face, surprised to find a tear. He looked up at Steve, shock filling his features. He wasn’t sad about some made up lie. He was sad about the life he had once. The one he chose to run away from. The one that feared him after he turned blue. Even his grandfather had been scared. Not malicious, just scared of Bucky. _I just don’t know how to handle it yet._ Bucky had been so upset, thinking they’d never love him. Maybe they would have—if Bucky would’ve given them a chance.

Bucky sighed, sitting back. The taste of root beer made his stomach churn instead. He pushed the cup away.

“You’re finished?”

Bucky nodded.

Steve scooped up some of Bucky’s whip cream and plopped it on his.

“Hey!”

“You said you were finished!”

Bucky found himself laughing. It sounded so strange, a laugh that wasn’t calculated or designed. It was free of character, other than tone, and was so uniquely _Bucky_ that he wanted to scream at Steve what he truly was. He snatched Steve’s float and took a sip from the straw.

“Hey! You thief!”

The mood lightened. Steve’s eyes brightened, Bucky’s tears dried. They shared pleasant conversation, anything and everything that didn’t mention their lives or their backgrounds. Two people displaced in a world too big and too hateful to understand them.

And Bucky felt his heart swelling faster than it should’ve.

* * *

“Nice place,” Steve said as he stepped into the hotel room.

Bucky snorted. He could hear the sarcasm from outer space. The walls were yellowing, the blinds had a tear in them. Bucky assumed it’d been a cat, but a knife fight could’ve happened too. He wasn’t too sure.

“You can shower if you want.” Bucky’s eyes flared open, mouth dropping. “Actually! Hold on!” He ran into the bathroom, hiding the backpack full of men’s clothes from the store he’d stolen from. He zipped the thing up and brought it into the bedroom to throw in the corner. “Okay, Now’s all good.”

Steve laughed, shaking his head. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Oh.”

They stood there, an awkward silence hanging in the air. It felt oppressive and made Bucky’s skin crawl. He sat on the bed, crossing his legs like any proper lady. It wasn’t hard to be a woman, at least, superficially. He didn’t have to worry about his balls getting crushed if he sat wrong and he could command rooms with his body language. He didn’t mind the warming between his thighs either. Steve made him so damn horny. He contemplated just throwing his stupid pipe dream into the wind and letting Steve believe he really was just a sex worker. He could get some cash from the well-meaning Captain America and head to Mexico. Bucky swallowed, crinkling his nose. He liked the idea of being wanted by someone. He’d stick to the game.

“Why’s Captain America all the way out in bumfuck nowhere Kentucky?”

“Why’s a pretty girl like you out in bumfuck nowhere Kentucky?”

“I asked you first.” Bucky’s heart fluttered. Steve called him pretty.

“Classified.”

“Oh. Are we in danger?” Bucky did his best to feign innocence. He brought his hand up to his lips, his doe eyes large and pleading for the big strong Captain America to protect him. He used every bit of his body to pretend to be frightened.

“What? Oh! No! No, nothing like that!” Steve waved it off. He sat down at the desk. Bucky couldn’t hide the disappointment on his face if he tried. Steve shrugged, noticing. For all his bumbling earlier, Steve was no fool. He’d been perhaps caught off guard, or maybe it’d been all an act. Bucky wasn’t sure. Steve was fiercely intelligent and he knew how to read Bucky better than Bucky’d given credit. That had to be something he’d file away and remember. Slipping up was not an option.

“So the government sent ya?”

Steve smiled wider. His eyes dulled though, a darkness seeping in. The room chilled and Bucky slid off the bed to the AC unit to turn it down. A smaller body couldn’t handle the icy temperature he’d left it on when he’d been in his normal shape; his blue skin was much thicker. He wished he’d had something more casual to wear instead of the dress. It was a simple thing, a sundress for any occasion, but he wished he had sweatpants.

“Okay-okay. Don’t tell me.” Bucky slunk over to the bed again. He was on his knees, crawling forward a bit. “Wanna tell me somethin’ about why you bothered to help lil’ ol’ me?”

Steve let out a soft laugh. He looked to the desk, finding a piece of paper and a pencil. He looked back at Bucky, a spark brightening his eyes. God, he was beautiful when he allowed himself to look _alive_.

“You look like someone I used to know.”

_Peggy._

“Do you care if I draw you? I—that’s probably weird to ask. Nevermind.”

Bucky dropped onto the bed, letting his breasts round out. He lifted one leg until his dress slipped up his thigh. “Wanna find out how long I can hold this pose?”

“I’ll give you thirty seconds.”

“Watch me, soldier boy.”

Steve went quiet, his pencil doing all the talking. His gaze roamed Bucky, lingering on the swell of his breasts, the muscle in his thigh. _God,_ Bucky was so horny. Steve licked his lips more than Bucky thought was legally allowed. They were shiny, red and begging to be nibbled.

Fuck it. Bucky already said he was a sex worker on accident. He’d make another woman up and try again with Steve later so he didn’t have to abandon the whole idea of being something to Steve. He rolled from the bed, walking on his knees over to Steve.

Steve tensed, his pencil abruptly stopping. “I wasn’t finished.”

“You’re right, I can’t hold it anymore.” Bucky’s fingers crept up Steve’s jeans. “Tell if you don’t want this.” He looked up at Steve, biting his bottom lip, twitching his shoulders with all the desire he felt. He was aflame with lust for Steve. His body tingled intimately, wetly. He wanted to worship Steve, to treasure him and give him something to feel alive about. It was so clear all over Steve’s face how _lifeless_ he’d become. A national treasure, now dusted over and dull. Steve needed to be polished and made new again. Bucky wanted to give him that.

Steve grabbed Bucky’s face, mouth open. They stared at each other, Bucky’s gaze locked and Steve’s wandering. He leaned down, kissing Bucky’s nose and then his lips. It was soft, softer than Bucky could’ve imagined. Steve’s lips were plush and warm, his tongue slow but unafraid. He pulled back, stroking Bucky’s cheekbone.

Bucky undid Steve’s belt and then his jeans. He slipped a dainty hand into Steve’s pants, finding the slit in his briefs to bring out his cock. He was thick flaccid. Bucky whimpered, imagining what it’d be like fully hard and inside him. His body swelled with heat and desire, it coiled around his stomach, squeezing in and forcing him to tremble. He brought his lips over Steve’s cock, looking up.

Steve swallowed roughly, giving Bucky a tiny little nod that it was okay.

Bucky sucked Steve into his mouth, gentle. He coaxed Steve’s cock to an erection, using his hand at the base. He moved up on his knees, letting his brown hair spill over his shoulder. Steve caught it, pushing it back and holding it softly. Bucky looked up, watching the way Steve’s pupils swallowed the blue of his eyes, the way he bit and sucked at his own lips. His face was flushed red and Bucky smiled around the intrusion in his mouth when he saw that red trail down the man’s throat.

He turned his attention back to Steve’s cock. Flicking his tongue out along the underside, he used his thumb at the base, drawing careful little circles there. Steve dug his boots into the carpet. He pushed the seat back on accident and Bucky’s teeth knicked his tip.

“I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay,” Steve said, stroking Bucky’s face. “You’re great—this is fine.” Sweat glistened off his face. He looked more god than man. How did Bucky become so enamored so fast? This man was searching for him. He’d held a syringe that Bucky _knew_ was potassium. But then he’d told Bucky he’d been tracked. He didn’t chase after and he didn’t complete his mission. He’d purposefully let Bucky go. Bucky’s heart grew a size to make room for the adoration he felt for this man already. Loneliness had a way of pouring desperation into Bucky’s bones. He was desperate for affection so long denied.

“This is fine,” Steve repeated, an octave lower.

Bucky sat back, a sadness tugging his heart. “You telling me or yourself that?”

“If you think I’ve never had a one-night stand, you don’t know me. I traveled with USO girls.”

Bucky smiled. “What if I don’t wanna be just a one-night stand?” He grabbed Steve’s cock, stroking it slowly. He fingered the tip, slipping his nail along the slit. Steve groaned, dropping his head back.

“I—” Steve swallowed, “I don’t think—that’ll be an issue.”

Bucky smirked, swallowing Steve’s cock down, sucking hard to bring the man over the edge.

* * *

When Bucky woke, he was still clothed in his sundress and designed to look like the girl Steve let blow him. They never went further. Steve kissed Bucky’s breasts, his neck, wandered his fingers up to the heat between Bucky’s legs, but Bucky had told him to stop. _I don’t want you to discover all my secrets just yet, Captain_.

Steve wasn’t in the room.

Bucky sat up, tugging at one of the straps of his dress when it fell over his shoulder. He stood up and moved over to the mirror. He wanted to cry, staring at a face that wasn’t his. It was designed, a creation of his own mind, yes, but not _him_. And why did he want Steve Rogers to fall in love with him so badly? What _good_ would that accomplish? Bucky reached up, touching swollen pale lips. He jumped, turning when the door opened.

Steve stood there with a drink carrier and a paper bag. “Doughnuts and coffee?”

“You’re such a gentleman.” Bucky sauntered over, taking the bag of doughnuts and his coffee. He kissed Steve on the cheek, smiling when Steve didn’t pull away. It felt _so good_ to feel the warmth of someone else; to feel the tickle of an unshaven face. Bucky put his meal down and touched his own face. Smooth. He wasn’t sure what else he’d been expecting. His molecular level was steady in this form. No worries about unshaven faces for him.

He took out a doughnut, eyeing its white icing. It was round and sugary, just perfect. He bit into it, licking his lips of the grape jelly inside.

“So really—what’s a girl like you doing here?”

Bucky chewed slowly. He watched Steve take a seat at the desk, legs open. He could try to distract him again, maybe a morning blow job would go over well. Bucky licked his sugary lips, contemplating his next move. Maybe a little trust was in order.

“I’m running away.”

Steve blinked.

“My family doesn’t accept me, so maybe it’s not so much running as it is following exactly what they wanted.”

“I’m sorry.” Steve looked to his shoes. He reached forward, tugging on a lace. “What makes you different?”

Bucky smiled. “An eccentric little girl with silly dreams. My parents are—traditional.” Vague, vague, vague. Rule one in espionage. Keep it vague unless cornered. You never want to remember all the lies you wrack up.

“What’re your dreams?”

Bucky cringed. It wasn’t that he couldn’t figure out something to say, it’s that he didn’t _want_ to make them lies. He wanted to reach Steve with who he really was. If he had to wear a fake body and listen to a fake voice, he wanted what was coming out of it to be real. He wanted Steve to know his soul.

“To be loved.”

Steve closed his mouth. Bucky had to look away. He’d pushed to far already. They didn’t know each other any more than strangers at a bar. This was hardly the conversation one should have with a man he’d sucked off the night before.

“You can go—whenever. You don’t owe me anything for—for what we did.”

“I don’t have any place to go to.” Steve crossed his arms. He nibbled on his lip and Bucky wished more than anything he’d been gifted with the ability to read thoughts and not just change his body. Steve could say one thing, but his mind was on an entirely different subject. Bucky wanted to know it. “I’ve actually got a nice vacation lined up now.”

Bucky cocked a brow. He knew that to be false. Steve was on a mission to kill him. “What about your mission?”

“Lost the signal.” Steve stood up, heaving a big sigh and stretching. “We could see what the hills of Kentucky have to offer?”

“I don’t have a car.”

“I’ve got a helicopter.” Steve laughed, the words apparently ludicrous to him. Bucky found himself smiling. Steve was so humble, a human. Captain America melted away, bit by bit and Bucky found himself staring at a man with sad eyes who seemed desperate for a way out. It reminded Bucky of himself.

“Okay, so what is this, Steve?”

Steve picked up Bucky’s backpack and put it over his shoulder. He shrugged, smiling. Bucky’s gaze lingered on the backpack. There were things in there that he couldn’t explain away if Steve opened it up. Or maybe he could. Men’s clothing could be leftovers from people through Bucky’s _encounters._ Maybe he could find some kind of way to lie his way out of it if Steve opened it.

“You said you wanted to run away. So let’s run.”

Bucky laughed, astounded. He pressed his hand to his heart, feeling it flutter. Steve was nothing like he’d imagined. Nothing.

“I’m out of clean clothes,” Bucky said.

“We can buy some before we leave.”

* * *

They’d found a flat area to land amidst mountains. Steve had returned Bucky’s backpack. At the store, Bucky snagged more clothes than he was comfortable with making Steve buy. He did like going up to the register, a pretty brunette with his tall, broad male companion. He’d seen the way the cashier looked at Steve and then Bucky. He’d felt so _proud_ of being recognized as someone else’s. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t true. The cashier made up her own mind and Bucky liked it.

“Wanna go for a hike? See what’s all here?” Steve asked.

Bucky stood up. He dusted off his fresh jeggings and joined at Steve’s side. They walked through the trees, careful when climbing along steep ground or downed trees. Bucky slipped, and Steve reached out to catch him.

“Easy, take it slow.”

Bucky smiled, he hadn’t meant to slip, but he was sure he’d find more ways to be helpless later. He liked Steve touching him.

“Are you running?” Bucky asked once they found easier ground to trek.

“What?”

“You said you lost the signal, did you really?” Bucky’s curiosity was insatiable. He was slightly infuriated that just as he was trained to be vague, so was Steve. But Bucky _knew_ he’d been Steve’s target. He’d given up so easily. Bucky wanted to know why. What made his life worth sparing? What made his life worth...something.

“Yup.”

Bucky frowned. So he’d need to come at Steve with a crowbar to get this information. Bucky paused, eyes widening. What if Steve knew who he was and this was just a plan to get him somewhere he couldn’t escape from?! Bucky slunk back, watching Steve. He wore lighter clothes, his jeans fit comfortably, but not tightly around his body. He could be hiding a knife in his boots, or a syringe.

“We should play a game,” Bucky said.

Steve kept walking. “I’m listening.”

“Truth for truth? You tell me something about you—honestly—and I’ll do the same.”

Steve stopped. He turned back, wiping the sweat from his brow. Bucky’s gaze lowered, watching how his chest rose and fell. He wanted to push himself into that chest and listen to its rhythmic melodies.

“Sure,” Steve started walking, “you first.”

“Okay.” Bucky picked up a rock, wondering if it could bash Steve’s head in if he needed to. He balanced it in his palm, looking up at Steve’s blond head. “I’m bisexual.” Bucky wasn’t sure if it was the first thing out of his mouth because he was, or if because he wanted to know if _Steve_ was. But the words were out, and Bucky waited, eager to know if Steve would take the bait or not.

“That why your family—”

“Nu-uh. A truth, Steve.”

Steve paused at a small break in the mountain. They’d have to find a way to climb and jump over. He tested a tree, checking its strength before leaping up and letting it get his weight.

“You can use this. I’ll help you across.”

“A truth—Steve.” Bucky planted himself. He wouldn’t move unless Steve gave him what he wanted.

“I told my mark he was being tracked.”

Bucky bit his lip. He looked down at his new shoes, barely scuffed from the hike. So Steve didn’t know. “Why?”

“It’s your turn, Jamie.” Steve pointed up at the tree. “Let me help you across.”

“I don’t wanna keep going,” Bucky said. He huffed, sitting down. “I’m tired.”

Steve moved away from the tree, sitting beside Bucky. An uncomfortable silence fell between them. Bucky watched the leaves rustle in the wind, lost to no actual thought. He felt numb. It was quiet in his head. Birds sang, wind whispered, but no thoughts came to Bucky’s mind. He closed his eyes, inhaling a steady, long breath. He could feel his chest rise, breasts that didn’t belong to him and yet he’d taken their shape all the same.

“I don’t actually have a family,” Bucky admitted. He looked at Steve, waiting for any sign of realization or anger. There was none. Steve nodded, scooting closer to Bucky.

“Me either.”

“You’ve got the Avengers.”

“No,” Steve spat out a guttural laugh, “we’re a fucking mess.”

“Why?”

“Tony and I—we’ll probably never get along. The Accords destroyed our autonomy. I haven’t had a family since my ma died.”

Bucky looked away. He pictured his own mother, her lined face and lush lips. He’d gotten his mother’s lips. He always thought back on the same memory. They were outside on Grandpa’s farm, his mom swinging on the porch swing and Bucky coming out to tell her dinner was ready. It was always sunset in that memory, and the dim light crowned his mother’s head like a halo. He didn’t even know if it was real, but it was _his_.

“That was a long time ago, right?” Bucky asked.

“Feels like yesterday to me. Sure, it happened in the thirties, but I still remember it like last night. Some losses, time just doesn’t heal.”

Bucky couldn’t agree more. The sadness he carried about his family was still fresh. He opened his mouth, wanting to say how he could relate, but terrified to do so. He walked a tightrope with Steve. If he fell, he’d expose what he was. The lie protected him, as much as it hurt him. Bucky rested his head against Steve’s shoulder.

“Being an orphan sucks,” Bucky said.

“Yeah,” Steve wrapped his arm around Bucky, “it does.”

* * *

So many messages, _status update.  Status update. Rogers why are you taking the helicopter into the mountains. ROGERS_. Steve smiled, deleting each and every one of them. He knew they could track his every move, but they wouldn’t dare try to invade his space while on such a sensitive mission. But that mission, whoever he was, he was long gone now. Steve looked up at the night’s sky, astounded by all the stars he could see. New York had its own beauty, but nothing could compare to the crystal clear skies and the stars that smiled at Steve. It had been the first real choice Steve had made since he woke from the ice. It felt good.

The crackling of the fire brought him back. He looked over to Jamie, watching her tend the fire. She’d made it all on her own. Another surprise. She held more secrets than Steve did, and Steve was too curious to back away. The Grand Canyon was out there, waiting for him to be his final resting place, but here he was, in Kentucky—watching a girl who looked so much like Peggy tend to a fire under a night’s sky. It brought back so many memories of Peggy, of the war. Steve had long since put Peggy’s memory to rest. He’d loved her, lost her, mourned her, moved on from her. He—tried—with Sharon but. What a mistake. It’d been in poor taste, and Steve knew that now.

Maybe this was God punishing him for thinking about taking his own life. Hell, maybe it was even _Peggy_ trying to punish him. Jamie looked so much like her.

“The job’s never over for Captain America, huh?” she asked, a curl at her lips. Steve liked that she didn’t wear makeup. He liked makeup, but it was easier for Steve to remember this _wasn’t_ Peggy. It would be improper to compare the two, other than the similar physical characteristics. Peggy wore red lipstick, Jamie did not. And even if Jamie did, she was _not_ Peggy. And that was okay.

“They’re angry I haven’t reported in.”

“Never took you for such a bad boy.”

Steve laughed. He liked how easy it was with Jamie. They were both people pretending to be someone they weren’t, all the while desperate to be who they truly were. Steve wished the glass could shatter beneath his feet so he could just open up to her. What did he honestly have to lose at this point?

“The world’s most common mistake about me is thinking I’m something to be emulated.”

Jamie quirked a brow.

“I’m not a rule-abider. I’m not a patriot. I hate the government. I hate it. I hate that the rich prey upon the poor. I hate that women have to fight to be respected, or be _paid_. I hate that I’ve done nothing to change it.”

“Woah—”

“Oh God. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t mean—”

“No-no!” Jamie put her hands up. “Not a bad woah! A surprised woah! You _have_ done something to change it. You’re not carrying pickets and protesting but, you’re still out there helping.”

“No, no I’m really not. I’m the biggest sham to ever exist, Jamie.”

Jamie was silent for a long time, lips pressed together and her brow crinkled. She stared into the fire, brown eyes letting the flames reflect off them in wild dances.

“You saved me. From bad men.”

“Men?”

“It’s—there’s—yes, bad men, Steve.”

Steve inhaled through his nose. He looked up at the stars, grateful for the fire’s warmth. He didn’t know Jamie’s story, he wanted to, but it was too obvious she’d rather not at this point. Steve had to respect that. Women were strong, they were clever and they didn’t take kindly to men pushing them to reveal themselves. Steve would wait. If she decided he was worthy to know what it all was, then he’d listen. But till that day, Steve wouldn’t ask.

“Dinner’s ready,” Jamie said. She picked up a hot dog right off the twig she’d been using to cook it and offered it over to Steve.

“We should’ve gotten more food.” Steve took the hot dog. It hurt to touch. He looked to Jamie’s fingers and how she continued on, the pain had never hurt her. Steve nibbled on the dog, wondering what to say, what to _do_. He’d been vastly reckless when he decided to take this woman away from whatever she was running from. He’d veered off his own course of the Grand Canyon and his _plan_. He looked at the curve of her shoulder and the way she had her hair tied up in a messy ponytail. Her neck… He’d kissed that neck, and he wanted to again. Loneliness. Steve felt it more than ever when he was sitting beside a woman who was clearly just as lonely.

“Truth for truth?” Steve asked.

Jamie looked up, her eyes unreadable because of the flame’s reflection.

“I think I like you a lot more than I should.”

Her mouth twitched, a little smile that she didn’t deem worthy of her face. Steve wished she’d let herself smile. All her smiles were so fake or forced. The real ones, Steve longed to see those.

“I like you more than I should,” she said.

Steve felt the syringe in his boot, tucked carefully away and capped. No accident could happen. He took a deep breath, wondering if this was life’s way of telling him _don’t do it_. He moved closer to Jamie, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She leaned in, kissing his cheek. He’d throw that syringe into the mountains and leave it behind. Steve never stopped believing in God. Not even aliens or gods could take his belief away. If this wasn’t a message, he wasn’t sure what would be. A woman, beautiful and smart, but sad and lonely—she needed him. And more—Steve needed her.

“You may not like what you find, Steve,” Jamie said.

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained.” Steve turned, pressing his lips to her neck. She shivered, leaning into his arms. Steve swung her onto his lap, their lips clashing. She was soft, her breasts pressing into his chest, her lips warm and just as needy as Steve’s. He picked her up, moving them to the helicoptor but never making it.

Steve collapsed into the grass, grinding against her body. His hands roamed her breasts, her face, her neck. His lips stayed with hers, their tongues playing a game all their own. She thrust up and Steve groaned into the kiss. He was hard, breathing heavy and even if this turned out to be the stupidest decision, Steve wouldn’t regret it.

“W-wait!” She gasped, pushing Steve up.

Steve snapped up, moving off her. “Did I hurt you? Are you okay?”

“I’m not made of glass.” Steve winced, at how icy her tone was. She straightened out her blouse, sighing. “I don’t have sex.”

“Oh.”

“I mean—not without love.”

“ _Oh_. That’s fine, I respect that.”

Jamie smiled. She took her hair down, rustling it out. Steve watched brown curls spill around Jamie’s shoulders, bouncing into place. “That surprise you? A girl who blows you the day we met?”

“If you’re trying to get me to call you a slut, I don’t really believe in classifying anyone like that. Everyone’s got different comfort levels.”

“Truth for truth?” she asked. Steve nodded in response. “I’m scared you’ll hate me when you figure me out.”

“I don’t hate people.”

Her smile was sad, disbelieving. She stood up, putting her hair back up. She walked over to the helicopter and went inside. Steve didn’t follow her. He stayed by the fire all night, wondering if he should throw the syringe out or not after all.

* * *

Days blurred into weeks. Bucky started finding it easier to just _be_ this person—this Jamie. She was mysterious and strong. Something Bucky shouldn’t have been surprised about when Steve said he admired her for that. Her strength was what kept Steve at her side, not the fake weakness Bucky had tried to display before. Steve promptly called her out on that bullshit a week later.

The truth got easier. Bucky found it easier to talk about his old life in Indiana. It’d just slipped out and Steve sat there, stroking his fingers over Bucky’s naked thigh so Bucky just had to keep talking. They acted like Bonnie and Clyde, two people on the run, except they never broke the rules. They never robbed banks and Steve had even stopped _Jamie_ from stealing a new dress. They traveled each day. Steve had abandoned the helicopter, knowing it was easily retrievable by the US government when they felt like it. They opted for renting a car instead.

The windows were down, Bucky’s brown hair whipping in the wind. He wore giant sunglasses that made him feel like Audrey Hepburn. He _liked_ feeling pretty. He liked the way Steve looked at him. He’d even gotten his hands on some proper makeup. Steve liked the pink palettes more than the red, so that’s what Bucky wore. Steve told him he didn’t have to pick that palette, but it was Bucky’s choice. He liked doing things that made Steve happy. But  Bucky also liked doing things that made _him_ happy, and wearing makeup made him happy.

Bucky put his hand out the window, letting it glide over the howling wind. He sighed, happy for once. He wondered—if everything went the way he wanted it—could he abandon masculinity? What _made_ a person masculine? What made a woman a woman? Could Bucky be a woman because he enjoyed it? Or was he being one for the wrong reasons. He liked wearing dresses, he liked the way Steve’s gaze lingered on his breasts. He liked the sound of his laugh and the way Steve followed him like a puppy. After a life of being owned, it was nice to feel like he—sort of—owned someone else. Not literally. Not the way the US owned Bucky’s life. He just liked knowing that he got to hold Steve’s heart in his palm. He liked how it felt when they snuggled at night and the way Steve would kiss Bucky’s forehead. He liked that Steve went where Bucky asked and did unprovoked kind things for Bucky. Maybe Bucky was using the words wrong. He didn’t own Steve, but he liked _having_ him. Did it matter what Bucky was born as? Did his “true” form matter at this point? Was it a lie if this is what Bucky liked being?

He wanted to be Jamie. He didn’t want to be Bucky anymore. Was it a lie? Bucky didn’t want it to be. But maybe it was. He’d been Steve’s mark once. Did that make their growing relationship spoiled? Steve was sent to kill Bucky and instead, he freed him. What did that mean?

“You’re cute when you’re thinking.”

Bucky blinked a few times, startled. He straightened up in his chair and reached up to grab his hair. He didn’t want it flying into his face when he looked at Steve.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to spook you.”

“I’m not spooked!” Bucky frowned. “But yeah—I was thinking.”

“Can I ask you a question and will you give me an honest answer?”

Bucky froze.

“Why’d you fake that southern accent?”

Bucky’s mouth dropped open. Of all the things he could forget, he forgot _that_? Bucky wrapped his arms around himself, ashamed.

“I’m not angry, you were on the run. I just need to know why you kept it up—even with me.”

“I didn’t know if you’d hurt me too or not,” Bucky answered. It came out stronger than he’d wished it did, even over the wind. He’d tried to make up some perfect southern Belle and instead, he’d given Steve damaged goods with a murky past. How cliche?

“Jamie,” Steve grabbed Bucky’s hand, “I won’t ever hurt you.”

“What if the government asked you to?”

Steve dropped Bucky’s hand like it was ice. He looked back to the road. Bucky feared his mind was figuring it all out. Family in Indiana, the slip of the accent, fear of being hurt. The more Bucky fell, the more honest he wanted to be, and the more honest he wanted to be, the riskier it got with Steve. Marrying the man was simply out of the question at this point. That was a silly thought and one out of desperation. Bucky would ride this out, see where it went. But he’d leave one day. It was how he’d survive. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t love every second of the journey.

“I won’t kill innocent people, Jamie. Yeah, I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of. But killing Americans? Innocent people? No No that’s not me.”

“Good.” Bucky looked out the window again. He put his hand back out, letting it glide like they hadn’t even had their conversation. Country music played on low, banjos and guitars. They went about sixty miles before speaking again. Nothing important, nothing Bucky could remember if he tried the next day.

They found a motel along the highway and that’s when Bucky finally decided to check where they actually were. Kansas. They’d somehow made it to Kansas.

* * *

“Where are you, Rogers?” Secretary Ross asked. From the redness of his face, Steve was fairly certain he was on the verge of exploding. Steve sat back on the bed, staring at his little phone.

“You can track me with this?”

“I want an explanation on _why_ you’re in _Kansas_.”

“Tracker’s disabled. I’ve been trying to follow leads but I think it’s a lost cause.”

“And you didn’t tell us why?” Ross’ eye twitched.

“Because I was busy.”

“Not an acceptable answer, Rogers. We’re pulling you back in. You get your ass back to DC in two days or we send a team to not only execute the Winter Soldier, but you too.”

“Excuse me, sir?” Steve didn’t care about dying, what he cared about was that his life suddenly meant nothing to Ross.

“Mutants are dangerous. You’re a science cocktail away from being one. If you stop cooperating, you’re a threat to the American people.”

“Oh come on!” Steve shouted, “this isn’t about the American people! This is about your own fucking fears! I’m no bigger threat to you than a light rain!”

Ross tilted his head, smirking. “Two days, Rogers. Two days. And we’ll find the Winter Soldier just fine without a tracker.”

“You’ve got a mutant to find him—don’t you?”

Ross didn’t answer. He just closed the feed with his smug little face as the last thing Steve saw. Steve threw his phone, groaning. He had a day to decide if he’d get on a plane and fly back to DC or see how long he’d last out here with the government on his ass.

Jamie was in the doorway, her face pale.

“Oh. You—oh my God—you heard that?”

Jamie nodded.

“I’m so sorry.” Steve crossed the room to her. He scooped her into his arms and kissed her head over and over. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I’m not scared!” Jamie pushed Steve away. There was more power in her tiny body than Steve had been led to believe. “You’re gonna leave me.”

“What? No! We can—you can come with me. Those guys can’t hurt you anymore. You’ll be safe.”

Jamie shook her head, snarling. “No—no I won’t. They’ll always come after me.”

“Who _are_ they, Jamie? Tell me! I can protect—”

“No Steve! You can’t!” Jamie dropped the pizza she’d gotten for them and ran out into the parking lot. Kansas air was dusty but cool. Steve followed her, watching how she ran to the road and then crossed into the open land beyond. She just kept running. Her powerful legs long and elegant when she moved. Steve gawked. Her form was so professional. She could’ve been an Olympian for all Steve knew. Then, he moved, running after her.

She’d collapsed into long blades of grass, heaving. Tears lined her face. She looked greener somehow, her hair duller. Steve forgot that under all her strength, there was still someone who genuinely feared for her life. She wouldn’t tell Steve, but he didn’t doubt the severity behind it. This wasn’t some jaded boyfriend. She was running from a real threat.

“I’ve gone and done it,” she said. “Fuck! I’ve gone and fallen in love with you and I was so _stupid_!”

Steve’s body tingled. He didn’t want to be happy, but the idea that this woman loved him made him feel like he could fly. He was falling for her too. Her secrets just held him back. Trust meant everything to Steve. He’d love her if she trusted him. But she didn’t. Steve doubted the reality of her love. Maybe she loved the idea of him, or what they’d been doing—life free and on the move. He wouldn’t argue, but he wouldn’t get ahead of himself either.

“You’re not stupid, Jamie.”

“Yes I am.” She wiped at her tears, lying in the grass. She stared up at the sky, her chest still rising and falling heavily. Yellow grass framed her body, drawing Steve’s attention to the curves of her muscles, the angle of her jaw. He wanted to paint her there in that spot, streaky tear-stained face and all. Her passion is what made her so beautiful, not just her face.

“I’m as good as dead, Steve. And we only got two days, if that.”

“I can protect you,” Steve said again.

“No. No, that’s the irony of all this.” She laughed, bitter and somehow liberated. She was scared, it was evident in the paleness of her skin and the wild look in her eyes, but she was reclaiming herself. If this was the hand she’d been dealt, she’d claim it back for herself. Steve found himself smiling at her, despite it all. “You can’t save me. No one can. I thought I’d be okay. That being with you would somehow make it all okay. That we could run from our demons and never look back—together. A new life, a new face.” She sighed, wiping the final tears from her eyes.

Steve helped her up and picked some dead blades of grass out of her wavy hair. He took her chin, bringing their foreheads together. “You think I’m going to go back?”

“If you don’t, they’ll kill you too.”

Steve didn’t miss that. He frowned, thinking back on all the little things that made this woman exceptional. Her strength, her speed, her intelligence. He thought on how she spoke as if there was a family out there and alive that she’d come from, but she didn’t _exist_ to them anymore. People she was running from or they’d kill her.

“You’re a mutant, aren’t you?” Steve asked. He didn’t need her to confirm. He knew already. He’d been so blind before. The people chasing her were the people Steve had been working for all along. That’s why he couldn't save her.

Jamie nodded, slow. She took in a shaky breath, balling up her fists.

“I said I’d never hurt you,” Steve whispered. He grabbed her wrists, trailing his hands down to hers to get her to relax her grip. She did, and Steve’s hands laced into hers. They brushed their noses against each other’s, listening to the rustling of the grass and the sounds of crickets. Night fell so quickly here. “I won’t go back.”

“They’ll kill you too,” Jamie said.

Steve kissed her, unrushed. He cupped her face, trailed his fingers down her collarbone. He used his other arm to pick her up, and her legs came around him easily. “I won’t go back,” he said again.

Jamie started crying once more. She clutched around Steve’s shoulders and buried her face into one of her arms. Steve carried her back to the motel. He closed the door behind them, and gently laid her on the bed. She didn’t let go. Her strong thighs locked him to her.

“I can’t have sex,” she said, “but I need you close to me.”

“Because of your powers?” Steve asked. He wanted to know what kind of mutant she was. She was on the government’s radar. That was enough to make Steve assume she could be dangerous. Except she wasn’t. And this is _exactly_ why Steve wished the Accords never happened. The day Steve was strong-armed into that agreement was the day he killed the mutants. It was all his fault. All of it, somehow. It had to be.

“Yeah.” She reached up, cupping Steve’s face. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care about sex, Jamie. I care about you.” He shimmied down her body, resting against her chest. Her breasts were soft and her heart steady. She wrapped her arms around his head, running her fingers through his hair. He could fall asleep there, listening to the beat of her heart and feeling the tingling against his scalp. He loved her nails.

“Truth for truth?” She paused for a moment, waiting for Steve’s answer.

“Sure.”

“I’m not what you think I am.”

“A mutant?”

“No, I’m a mutant. But, but what you think I am.”

“Well.” Steve leaned up, looking down at her. Brown hair curtained around her face, lush red lips were cracked from being bitten. He saw a flicker of something in her eyes, brown fading to something lighter. A blue or gray. It was there, and then gone. “I think you’re someone I could love for my whole life. However longer that may be.”

“We really are like Bonnie and Clyde, aren’t we?”

Steve laughed. He dropped back down atop her, curling up into her arms. He liked letting her hold him. She seemed to like it too. They took turns being big spoon at night. “Does that mean we’re goin’ to go out in a hail of gunfire?”

“That’s up to you, Steve. You’re the one with a potassium syringe hidden in your boot.”

Steve’s heart stopped almost as abruptly as it would if injected. He rolled off her, gaping.

“Was that for your target? Or you?”

Shame filled Steve up like sandbags. He felt unable to move, speak or even breathe. The AC hummed on in the room, Jamie watched Steve with eyes that Steve couldn’t determine if they were brown or silver. Was it the lighting?

“It—me. It’s for me.” He closed his eyes. He couldn’t imagine her face. Cowards took their own lives. It was selfish, stupid and reckless. But it wasn’t selfish when no one cared anymore. It wasn’t cowardly if it was to protect others _from_ him. That’s what he’d become. _He_ was the monster to be feared now. He’d lived long enough to see himself become the villain.

“So we have two days and you just? Go die?” Jamie asked. Her eyes shimmered with tears. “After all this?”

Steve reached over, brushing his fingers over the line of her cheekbone. He smiled, but his eyes were dim. “What would you want me to do?”

* * *

Bucky couldn’t breathe. Steve had _never_ intended on killing him. The room spun too fast, Earth spinning away in the universe. Bucky could feel the force, it grabbed him by the gut and tried to fling him. He braced himself on the bed, grabbing it with one hand while the other grabbed Steve’s. He wanted to pull Steve into him, to kiss him and tell him all the reasons why it _mattered_ that Steve lived.

But Bucky? Bucky would die too. There was no way he could get away. Mexico, Aruba, Fiji. Anywhere he went, he’d be tracked by another mutant who could find him. Of course the government wouldn’t kill people like Charles Xavier or Caliban. They were useful. Bucky remembered Caliban. He’d run away when the government started killing mutants under their care. And he never resurfaced again after Xavier accidently killed all his students and the X-Men from dementia. God, how did the world come to this?

“People forget—they uh—they forget how young you were.” Bucky stared at Steve’s chest, too afraid to look at his face. “You were a kid too—just like us. They never even asked you did they? When you came out of the ice?” He looked up, tears blurring his vision. “They never asked if you’d be Captain America again. They just _assumed_?”

Steve nodded, clenching his jaw.

“They never asked me either. So as much as I want to tell you not to do it—I’d be a hypocrite. You’ve lived most of your life by their terms. You should die on your own. But I don’t want you to go.”

Steve pulled Bucky into his arms. Here, lying in the silence, save for Bucky’s sniffles and Steve’s sighs, Bucky wanted more than anything to show who he was. But it wasn’t just that he was a mutant, he was a _man_. Albeit one that liked dresses and feeling pretty for Steve, but a man. Bucky had never liked his powers before. He’d seen them as a curse and never a blessing. But now? He’d learned better. It’d been a gift to know Steve like this. It’d been a gift to know that Bucky _enjoyed_ being a woman. He didn’t know what he was anymore. He’d been born male and he’d never questioned it. Looking back, he’d been so foolish. His power should’ve tipped him off on how important it had been to find an identity that was _his_ and not the one someone slapped on a piece of paper. Bucky liked being a man. But he liked being a woman too.

So what did that make him now? And did it matter anymore if he was just going to be hunted down and killed sooner or later.

“Steve?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you for this.”

“For what?”

“For letting me know what it’s like to actually _live_. Even if it was only for a little while.”

Steve kissed Bucky’s head. Bucky closed his eyes, smiling when Steve’s grip tightened around him. They weren’t under the blankets, they still had shoes on, but Bucky knew they’d fall asleep like this.

“And thank you,” Steve whispered, “for letting me know what it’s like to want to be alive again.”

Bucky turned his face in to kiss Steve’s neck. He inched up more and more, kissing as he went until he was at Steve’s lips and Steve was kissing back. Steve’s hand went to cup Bucky’s breast, and he fought himself laughing at how quick Steve got hard after touching Bucky’s breasts. Bucky grinded his hips down, he couldn’t have sex with Steve. Or maybe he could—he just couldn’t orgasm. He’d found out the hard way that orgasms would make him lose control and he’d revert back to his blue form. But he didn’t have to come to enjoy sex. And they didn’t exactly have to even have penetrative sex to be intimate.

Bucky’s hands went down to Steve’s fly, unzipping carefully.

“Wh—”

“Shh.” Bucky kissed Steve’s lips again. “Let me do this?”

“But—”

“I want to, Steve. If you’re okay with it.”

Steve nodded, breathless. His face was already heating up. Bucky adored how he blushed with his whole body.

Bucky worked Steve’s cock through his briefs, feeling it grow harder and harder in his palm. He moved down Steve’s body and tugged at Steve’s pants. Steve lifted his hips to help Bucky get him out of them. Bucky leaned forward, using his tongue to guide Steve’s cock into his mouth. He liked the way Steve whined when Bucky got his mouth all the way around it. Steve’s fingers went to Bucky’s hair, curling in and trembling.

Steve didn’t guide Bucky or dictate how to blow him. Steve gave that power over to Bucky, and Bucky cherished each moment. Every decision was his own. He couldn't articulate to Steve how _important_ that was to him, but it was.

Steve’s body trembled beneath Bucky. He gasped and whined while Bucky bobbed up and down, easy and slow. He used his hand at Steve’s base so he could focus on the tip. He kissed it a few times, rubbing his lips against spit-slicked skin. Steve threw his head back and jerked his hips up. Bucky laughed.

“Shh, careful, baby.” Bucky grabbed a hip, pushing Steve back into the mattress. Steve went pliant. “That feel good? Me kissing your pretty cock?”

“Oh don’t call it that.” Steve gathered up Bucky’s hair again and their gazes met. “If you talk dirty, I’ll come in a second.”

Bucky flicked his tongue out, sliding it up the underside of Steve’s dick.

Steve hissed, biting his lip.

“You wanna last?”

“Can I do something for you?” Steve asked. Flushed, heaving and sweaty, but he was still concerned for Bucky. It was the most wonderful feeling, filling Bucky with warmth from a fire and soft like rose petals. “No sex—but—uh—something else?”

“Just let me enjoy this first,” Bucky said before swallowing Steve’s cock again.

Steve thrust softly, more out of reflex, with Bucky’s rhythm. He didn’t push, he didn’t pull and he didn’t try to boss Bucky around. If there was a God, and Bucky really wasn’t one to believe, he’d say Steve was designed for him.

Steve came, entirely abruptly and to both of their surprise. Bucky swallowed most of it, but some spilled down his chin. He sat up.

“Oh God. I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

Bucky laughed, wiping at the come on his face. “It’s okay, Steve.”

“I didn’t mean to. I—I tried not to. But I was just thinkin’ about—about you—and how—oh God I’m so sorry.”

“Did you just premature ejaculate?” Bucky smirked.

“Fuck, did I? I don’t know. Fuck.” Steve grabbed Bucky yanking him in close. Bucky laughed, allowing himself to be folded into Steve’s arms. He rested easily atop Steve’s softening cock, his legs tucked up to his chest. “Let me touch you?”

“I can’t come, Steve. It’ll—it’ll be bad.”

“So nothing?”

“It’s safer this way.” Bucky wanted nothing more than to feel Steve’s dick slip inside his wet pussy. And maybe they could, but Steve was a man who made sure his own were taken care of. And Bucky was his. He’d feel guilty without letting Bucky come. It was such a shame they never could.

“I wish there was something I could do for you,” Steve said. “It’s not fair.”

Bucky smiled. There he was, the Steve Rogers that Bucky had come to know. How many weeks had it been now? Months? A month? Bucky wasn’t sure. He’d stopped checking what day it was long ago. He liked the journey. His heart panged, a horrible reminder that it was all going to end soon. Steve would take his own life because he didn’t think he had anything else to live for, and Bucky would keep running until he was cornered and killed. It wasn’t fair to either of them.

Bucky wanted to beg Steve to not kill himself. Captain America was still a symbol and one that mattered. If he announced he was going to college or retiring or _something_ , the world would know. America couldn’t just off one of its most beloved heroes, could it? There had to be a way to make sure Steve was safe.

“Kiss me,” Bucky said. “Just—just kiss me.”

And so Steve did. They kissed till their eyes closed and sleep forced them to stop.

* * *

They’d spent their days inside that crummy motel, kissing and being as intimate as they could. Bucky had stripped naked, straddled Steve and rubbed himself against Steve till he orgasmed. Steve, of course, felt nothing but guilt that he couldn’t give Bucky the same pleasure back. Bucky didn’t _care_ though. After a life of nothing but falsities, it felt so good to know the person with him was real and certain. Bucky liked knowing that he was with Steve because he chose to be. He liked knowing that Steve was here with him because _he also_ chose to be. And it still felt good, even if Bucky didn’t come. He enjoyed the way he made Steve feel, the way he looked and how he sounded. He liked when Steve would grab his breasts, or how he’d suck one into his mouth. The energy they had was worth more than a thousand orgasms to Bucky.

“You’re so beautiful,” Steve said. They were in the middle of Kansas City. Steve had just thrown his phone into traffic and together, they watched it get crushed to pieces. Ross would have his answer now. They’d come for Steve, but Steve wouldn’t be there to greet them. He’d made up his mind before he’d met _Jamie_.

Bucky grabbed Steve’s hand, squeezing it. They stared down at the cars. Bucky contemplating changing right there. At this point, being Jamie wasn’t a lie. Jamie was as much part of Bucky as Bucky was part of Jamie. They were the same person. A male and a female all at once, fluid and intermingling. The only lie Bucky told, as far as he was concerned now, was that he’d been the mark Steve set out for. And in a comedic way, Steve had still gotten his mark. Instead of a shot to the heart though, Bucky gave it over willingly, and Steve kept it tucked away inside himself.

“C’mon,” Steve said. “It’s over fourteen hours to get to the Grand Canyon.”

“Why there?” Bucky asked. “You’re gonna make some kid find your body.”

Steve frowned. “That’s—you’ll report it? So that doesn’t happen?”

Bucky felt tears well up. He couldn’t watch Steve die. He _couldn’t_. He stepped forward, grabbing Steve’s face. Tears spilled now, free and fast.

“Don’t do it.”

Steve tensed.

“I’m _begging_ you. Please don’t do it.”

Steve looked away. Bucky could see the wear on his face, the lines etched prematurely. He could see how sallow Steve’s cheeks were. Steve wasn’t just tired. He was depressed, done, and cornered. He’d found himself in an alley with no exit. He’d rather die than be a prisoner any longer. Bucky—couldn’t fault him for that. But Steve wasn’t a mutant. A mutant who could find other mutants couldn’t find Steve. He could disappear, slip into the shadows and never be heard from again.

But Bucky—Bucky _was_ a mutant. Which meant only one thing: this would end, and it would have to end now.

“I love you,” Bucky said. “Don’t give up. Don’t leave just yet. Steve, there’s still some much you could _do_!”

Steve snorted.

“You think you’re a sham? So do something about it! Rise up! Only you can, Steve! Don’t you see? You’re power isn’t just your strength. It’s your heart.”

Steve’s gaze followed Bucky’s fingers when he pointed to Steve’s chest.

“You lead people. And they need you now more than ever. This world needs a hero. It _needs_ you.”

“I—”

The sound registered before the pain. A loud crack of thunder, a boom that reverberated through the world. Steve’s eyes widened, his grip tightening on Bucky’s slender hips. Bucky looked down, the ringing still in his ears. Steve’s lips were moving, his face progressively getting more frantic.

Bucky couldn’t feel his legs anymore. He dropped, cold seeping into his bones. He looked down, wondering why he felt so cold in the middle of Kansas City and summer. Red. _Red_. He pulled a hand up, staring in awe. Sparkling red blood winked at him. He looked down again, still not sure why he felt cold and why he couldn’t hear Steve’s screams.

Blood pooled from his stomach, a stomach that until now, had been a shade of porcelain. He tried to speak, but his tongue wouldn’t move, his mouth wouldn’t close. It just hung open, frozen like his muscles. He was turning back. No. No, no, no, no! Steve couldn’t see this!

Bucky had wanted to tell him, he had! He had just been so afraid. He’d been afraid he’d lose the love he’d become so happy to have. That’s all Bucky wanted. He just wanted to be loved, to know that someone out there in the world _gave a damn_ about him. He wanted the warmth of another body next to him, to hear someone else’s laugh and know it was because of him. He longed for one of Steve’s kisses, or their stupid truth for truth game. Just five more minutes. _God, just give me five more minutes._

Tears smeared Bucky’s vision. He couldn’t feel the pain. Just the cold. Just the fear of knowing that Steve Rogers would know he’d been lied to. Bucky could only imagine his disgust at being manipulated by a _man_ and _Bucky_ of all people. Bucky wished he could apologize, he wished that he could explain that he’d been so desperate. So, _so_ lonely. All Bucky felt was pain in life. Had it been so wrong to seek out comfort? Even for a little while.

The world was a swirl of dimming color. Bucky wasn’t sure if he’d just been left for dead or what. He wished he could’ve seen Steve’s face one last time as he lay there bleeding out. Even if Steve was angry. He wished that he could’ve seen it one more time.

Just…

One…

* * *

Bucky didn’t expect to be alive. He was in a bed. It was dark, except for tiny little holes in the walls that sprinkled sun rays inside. The bed was small, barely big enough for Bucky’s true form. He sat up, crying out when his wound seared angrily. He clutched the bandage, feeling the heat beneath his fingers.

“Fuck.”

“Logan gets so upset when I use such language,” someone said.

Bucky whipped his head around to see Professor Xavier. He was sitting next to a table of plants, tending to one of them.

“He’s so grouchy in his old age.”

“Logan? Wolver—ow!”

“You shouldn’t be up. Your wound is deep.”

“I’m fine. Where’s—shit—where are we?”

“Presently? In a tin can that Logan likes to think is safe for me. He can piss off.”

“I heard that,” another voice.

Bucky looked up, watching Logan walk into the room. He looked just as ticked off as Bucky remembered. Older, though. Eyes red from drinking too much. Actually, he looked like hell and not the same at all.

“You okay, kid?” Logan forced Xavier to take some pills with a little bit of a fuss, then he turned back to Bucky.

“Where’s Steve?”

“He’s here.”

Relief filtered into Bucky. It calmed his nerves, cooled the sweat on his brow and steadied his heart. He sat back down on the bed and allowed Logan to take a look.

“You know this was a buckshot. You’re lucky to be alive. Caliban had to go digging inside to get it all out.”

“Caliban? Caliban’s here?!”

Logan nodded.

“Who else?”

“Just us, James,” Xavier said. He smiled and there he was again, the magnificent and powerful Charles Xavier. He was no longer the danger the government saw or the threat the world feared. He was Bucky’s mentor again. His first friend. Bucky smashed his lips together, unable to keep the tears from shedding.

“Hello again,” Xavier said, understanding written all over his face.

“I missed you,” Bucky said. “I’m sorry.”

Logan finished redressing Bucky’s wound and tossed Bucky a white button down. “You’re okay to walk a little. Nothing fancy or I’ll shove you right back into that bed.”

“See what I mean? He’s even grouchier than before.” Xavier’s eyes twinkled, a little smirk on his aged face.

Logan grunted, turning away. “C’mon, kid.”

Bucky went up to Xavier. He grabbed his hand, nodding. He never thought he’d see Professor Xavier again. He never thought he’d see Logan or Caliban either. He’d known Caliban through his work with the government, but he’d known Logan and Xavier because they’d been his teachers, even if only for a little while.

Bucky followed Logan out of the giant metal dome. He squinted into the sunlight, raising up a blue hand to block the sky. He tried to shift but only half his body managed it.

“What the fuck,” he whispered.

“Caliban said that’d happen. Your molecules are all whack-a-doodle right now.”

“Whack-a-what?”

“Fucked up, kid. They’re fucked up. You’ve got buckshot remnant running around your blood still. We’ve got you on antibiotics. You’ll be fine. But you can’t morph.”

“What? No! I can’t see Steve!” Bucky backed up, bringing his hands up to cover his mouth. He pressed himself against the dome, breathing fast and hard.

“Why not?”

“He doesn’t know me like this.” Shame clogged Bucky’s pores. He felt wretched and slimy all over. He’d deceived Steve. It was complicated, how Bucky saw his gender, but everything else. He’d deceived. He’d never let Steve know and that was the lie. He couldn’t face Steve like this.

“He already knows,” Logan said. “He’s the one who brought you here.”

“What?”

Logan nodded, his lips a firm line. His face, God, Bucky hadn’t seen him in so long. His face was etched with age and countless years of living when he didn’t want to. Steve’s face was etched too, not as much, but etched all the same. Did all men who wanted to die look like this when they lived past all their loved ones? Bucky never wanted to find out. There was a sadness that Logan couldn’t shake, one he tried to bury with anger, but Bucky saw it. He saw the same sadness in Steve’s eyes. These men wanted death.

Bucky followed, nerves sizzling in anticipation. He entered the warehouse-makeshift house. Caliban was in the kitchen, his head covered with a bandana. He waved, but his eyes were full of sorrow.

Bucky came over to the living room of sorts. It was really just a shitty TV and a beat up couch. The place was a fucking mess. Steve was sitting on the couch, all curled in on himself.

Bucky was half his chosen human form and half his true blue self. He couldn’t shift all the way, but he couldn’t come out of it either anymore. It hurt too much. He walked in front of Steve, the blue skin working to try to morph the rest of the way, but failing. He opened the shirt, exposing the wound.

“You—you saved me again.”

“Mmm.”

“Steve, look at me.” Bucky reached out, but Steve jerked back. He curled tighter into himself. Bucky could hear his heart shatter. His mouth dropped open, eyes not unaccustomed to the reflection he saw before him. This is how everyone reacted to Bucky. Everyone feared the monster.

“I’m—I’m sorry.” Bucky’s voice wavered. “I meant—I would’ve told you—”

“When? Right before I jabbed myself with a needle?” Steve looked up, anger clear across his face. “I—I told you things—I _trust_ you!”

“And I told you things! It wasn’t just a lie! I swear!”

“How can I believe that? Who the fuck even _are_ you? Because you’re obviously not the girl I thought you were!”

Bucky’s skin tried to shift again, only he had no control. He gasped, pain searing down into the gunshot wound. Pale skin met azure, tendrils that usually never lingered tried to cling and force the other side to shift back, but failed. He cried out, dropping to the floor. His wound started bleeding again. He clutched it, breathing through his teeth.

“H-hey! Hey, Logan! Logan he’s—he’s bleeding!”

_He_. Bucky wasn’t Steve’s beloved Jamie anymore. Steve wouldn’t even see him that way. Bucky had been foolish to think a straight man could maybe love him, despite this. Bucky was truly genderfluid, a word he’d never known but discovered all his own. He could be whatever Steve needed him to be, or what Bucky wanted to be that day, that hour, that minute. He could shift back and forth at a moment’s notice and be happy with it, never truly one, but never truly the other. Both, simultaneously. But that wasn’t enough for Steve, maybe it would’ve never been.

“Why,” Bucky grit out, “why’d you save me?” He hissed when Logan came over and put pressure on the wound. Caliban stayed to the side, his hand pressed to his heart. He watched with his red eyes. Bucky used to fear him. Caliban, in the grand scheme of things, didn’t have the most interesting power, but it was deadly in the wrong hands. His curse however, was not mutation. It was being albino. People feared him for what he looked like. He’d understood Bucky’s struggle the moment they met.

“His skin keeps trying to shift. Stop—stop shifting, Buck!” Logan said.

“Buck?” Steve cocked a brow.

“I can’t stop!” Bucky groaned, pain clawing into the back of his brain and down his spine. “I can’t stop it!”

“We need to sedate him,” Caliban said. “He’ll injure himself like this.”

“Stop it!” Bucky sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m not—stop saying _he_!”

“Sedate him.” Caliban ignored his plea. Bucky understood—it was for Bucky’s own comfort, but the dismissal hurt more than Bucky had expected. He needed to understand himself. He needed to explain it to Steve or even just to himself in a mirror. He needed to _understand_ it.

Bucky’s vision went foggy, his limbs no longer able to fight. Sleep overtook him, sleep, and his own self-hatred.

* * *

Bucky woke on the sofa. Steve was still there, sitting on the floor. He stared off into space, hardly blinking. Bucky wanted to make sense of his expression, but it was blank.

“I’m—I’m sorry.” Bucky’s voice was cracked and jagged. It reminded him of each time he spoke to someone after having been cast aside and isolated until the government needed him. He’d go weeks—months—without speaking.

“Why’d you lie?” Steve asked.

“Because it—it wasn’t a lie. Not entirely.”

Steve raised a brow.

“You were lonely too. I meant to just watch you and make sure you wouldn’t follow but—then I got selfish. And then I got stupid. But I was always scared. I just—there was never a right time to say and—”

“The thing is, _Buck_ —” Bucky winced when Steve spat his name, “is that you didn’t let me make my own choice. You _manipulated_ me into falling for you.”

“No! No that’s not what I meant to do!”

“Then what the shit was all that? You drum up some girl who looks like Peggy and say all these things that make me stay with you?! Explain it!”

“I wanted—” Bucky coughed from the lump lodged in his throat. He grabbed his wound when it reminded him of its presence. “I wanted to know what it felt like to be wanted again.”

Steve didn’t speak. His gaze flicked about Bucky, probably taking in the ugly monstrosity of a man stuck between monster and another pretty lie. Bucky’s hair was even two different lengths. A real live two-face.

“I’ve been whatever the government’s wanted me to be. I belonged to them because I was too dangerous in anyone else’s hands—or even my own. What life do you think I had? I wasn’t allowed to have friends. I wasn’t allowed to travel and I couldn’t drive a car. I was a _weapon_. So after they tried to kill me—I just  needed someone.” Bucky wiped at his tears, angry that all he seemed to do was cry anymore. But he’d been so beaten down. How much more could he take before he whittled away from it all? “And you were there—and you’d saved me.”

“I didn’t save you. I _let_ you go.”

“Isn’t that the same thing? You were sent to kill me, and you didn’t.”

Steve scoffed, turning away.

“Steve, _please_! Everything I said was true. I didn’t want to keep any more secrets from you than I had to.”

“What would you have done?” Bucky grabbed his wound. It hurt to raise his voice, but this was all over anyway. Steve would leave Bucky here and eventually, the government would come here and claim not just Bucky’s life, but the rest. He put them all in danger. He _had_ to leave once he could shift again.

“If you saw me come up to you in the street like this side of me,” Bucky pointed to the ordinary side of him, “would you have loved me?”

The wind howled around them, filtering in through the broken windows and the crumbling infrastructure. Steve chewed the inside of his cheek, looking at his feet.

“Steve, please. Answer me.”

“That wasn’t your decision to make, Buck.” Bucky wanted to scream and tear himself apart each time Steve called him _Buck_. He missed Jamie. He missed the soft smile, the light kisses and how easy the name came to Steve’s lips. Jamie. Jamie. “It was mine, and you took that from me.”

“But then—then we’d never have loved each other. Wasn’t it better—nothing ventured, nothing gained? You said that!”

“You’re right, I did. That’s why I’m not angry, Buck. I’m just—I don’t know. Numb. For a guy who talks a lot about others using him, he was sure quick to use someone else.”

“I—” Bucky’s heart squeezed. He reached up, gasping. His body flittered, trying to shift again. His pale side turned blue but went back to pale again. It was trying so hard to shift back. He should’ve just left himself be blue. It’s not like Steve hadn’t seen it. He saw it when the bullet pierced Bucky’s stomach.

Steve stood up. He adjusted his pants and cracked his knuckles. “They won’t believe me if I tell them I killed you. I don’t even think Ross’ll give me a chance to speak before he lodges a bullet in my head.”

“You could bring back a body part,” Caliban said. He set a cup of tea before Bucky and offered one out to Steve, who rejected it.

“What? No!” Steve stepped back, shaking his hands.

“No—he’s right,” Bucky said, “I can grow one back anyway. I mean—not technically, not in my true form—but other ones. It’s okay.”

Steve stared at Bucky, his face drained of all color and his mouth hanging open.

Caliban shrugged, taking a sip of the tea he’d offered Steve. “It’s not a stupid suggestion if you just need them to believe it. As long as they don’t have a tracker as powerful as Charles or myself.”

“I don’t know how strong she is.”

“Steve, please go back. Don’t give up.” Bucky sat up slowly. Caliban came to his side, helping him. Once in a sitting position, Bucky reached for his tea. He stared at his blue arm, a reminder that he wasn’t ordinary. It used to invoke ire, but now it just reminded him of bittersweet memories. Of professions of love too early and roadtrips with the windows down, Bucky’s hand outside the car and Steve at the driver’s side. His curse gave him the best gift in the world, even if it was temporary. Bucky had gotten to know what it was like to love, and be loved in return.

“Logan could remove an arm and I could cauterize the wound. It may work.” Caliban looked to Bucky. He by no means looked eager or thrilled about the idea, but if there was a chance of saving Bucky’s life—it was a risk they were all willing to discuss.

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then I die with one less arm. It’s better than knowing I’m going to die,” Bucky said. “Please, Steve. Please.” Bucky wasn’t begging for this. He was begging Steve to _live_. “Don’t be a sham.”

Steve clenched his jaw. He huffed through his nose, pursing his lips. “Okay, fine.”

“I’ll tell Logan.” Caliban stood up, and silently left the room.

“Thank you,” Bucky whispered, “I know it’s not what you wanted.”

“Yeah well, I thought a lot of things about my life and so far none of it makes any sense. If someone told my sixteen-year-old self what I’d become, he’d try to punch them in the face. And—he’d probably break a finger.” Steve smiled. Bucky mirrored it. Two tired smiles, shared between them for knowing more about each other than anyone else in the world. It’d been a short time, but the intensity of it all made it so much more _alive_. Bucky knew Steve, without a doubt. And Steve knew Bucky—now even more.

“I”m—I am sorry—that I’m not who you thought I was.”

“You tried to warn me, I just didn’t listen.” Steve sat on the couch next to Bucky. He leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. “Looking back now, I don’t know why I didn’t catch on. You didn’t exactly hide it, except—well—I mean you did—but you slipped. The accent, the way your eyes changed colors a lot, the strength and training you showed, Indiana. Fuck—I should’ve known. I guess, maybe I didn’t _want_ to know. I liked it. What we had. I liked it a lot.”

“Me too,” Bucky said. He looked to Steve’s hand, too fearful to venture that risk. Steve was nowhere near okay with what had happened. Bucky wouldn’t expect him to be. He wished he’d told him now, but would it have changed anything? “I’m sorry I’m not a woman.” The words hurt, needles pressing into Bucky’s tongue. He didn’t live in a vacuum. Politics was the one thing he was up on. A trans woman was a woman, a trans man was a man. What made Bucky different? Was it the lie? Had that been the bridge he burned instead of crossed?

“It’s so much more complicated than that, Buck.”

“It’s Bucky.”

“What?”

“My name isn’t Buck. It’s Bucky.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Buck’s fine too, I just—I just wanted you to know.”

“Truth for truth?”

Bucky nodded, swallowing.

“If you told me, I would’ve still loved you.” He stood up, balling his fists up. “I can’t watch them cut your arm off. I’ll be—I’ll be outside.”

Bucky felt like the ocean had just reached out and swallowed him whole, spurring him into the depths of the ocean without any air to breathe.

_He would’ve still loved me._

* * *

Steve was _escorted_ into Ross’ office by several overly aggressive men with a bone to pick with Steve. Steve held Bucky’s severed arm in his arms. It was pulled to his chest and wrapped in numerous ratty blankets. Steve had been apprehended at the border and promptly flown back to Ross.

He held Bucky’s arm like a child held a doll. He could feel its weight against his chest, a reminder of a body that used to hold him, laugh with him, share so much to him. Steve hadn’t cried since Peggy’s funeral. He felt like crying now. He’d fallen in love with Jamie, a woman who was his equal in every way. A woman who understood him like the rest of the world couldn’t. They’d been perfect—until they weren’t. Bucky lied and something that big, Steve considered it pretty important.

Yes, Steve thought he was straight, but Bucky was—unique. Maybe he would’ve made an exception, maybe, but that was _his_ choice to make. But Steve was here because he did still care for Bucky. He was confused, jaded and a little more than scared, but he was here _because_ he still had feelings for Bucky. Whatever that meant at this point. Bucky _was_ Jamie. And if what Bucky said was true, then everything they talked about had always been Bucky and not some pretty lie that Bucky thought Steve wanted to hear.

“What is that?” Ross pointed to the bundle in Steve’s arms. He wondered what Bucky must’ve felt when his arm had been severed. They’d shot it up with potassium in the event Ross checked for that too, _after_ it’d been cut from Bucky’s body. Steve held it tighter against his body, chin dipped.

“It’s proof.”

“Of?”

“That I completed my mission.” He dropped the arm on Ross’ desk. The blue arm lay there for all to see, rigor mortis had the fingers at tense angles, the elbow set to a slight bend. The scales, the blue color of the skin. That was—had been—Bucky’s arm. And he’d cut it off for the chance at living to see another day. If he was willing to go that for to live, maybe Steve shouldn’t give up so easily on life.

Ross quirked a brow. He pinched up his lips, looking down at the arm. “Well then. Looks like you’re not a threat to the US government. Are you?”

“No sir.” _I’m gonna be your worst God damn nightmare for what you put Bucky through._ Steve put his hands behind his back, a casual resting position. Ross looked him up and down before pointing to the arm in front of him.

“Take this,” he said.

One of the grunts followed his order, bundling up the arm.

“We need it for testing. See if we can’t find a way to replicate that mutant’s capabilities.”

“You’re gonna put more enhanced in the world?” Steve could barely contain his ire. “After all this? After costing that mutant his life?”

“I’m going to create an army of mindless thugs that do exactly as I tell them to. North Korea, Russia, Syria, the whole God damned Middle East. If we don’t show the world our strength then they’ll start thinking us soft.”

Steve slammed his hands down on the desk. Ross leaned forward, his lips twitching. He was begging Steve to make a wrong move.

“That sounds like an excellent plan, sir,” Steve said while venom seared his veins.

“Yes, it does.” Ross sat back, shooing Steve out with his hand. Steve turned around, seething and tense as the lifeless limb had been in his arms. He walked out of the office, out of the building. Hell, he would’ve walked right out of existence if Bucky’s words hadn’t kept replaying in his mind. _Don’t be a sham_. It was time Steve stopped sitting with a thumb up his ass and started doing something. He didn’t give a shit where a bully came from. Ross needed to be stopped.

* * *

**Three Months Later**

Bucky hadn’t seen Steve since that day in Mexico. Logan had left with a little girl and Professor Xavier. Some mad-man captured Caliban. Bucky tried to find Caliban. But when he did, well, he learned that the government was right back at its antics with genetic testing and experiments. Bucky wondered if Steve had killed himself. He didn’t see him on the news anymore, but no one announced his death either. It made it all the more alarming.

He’d been in a market in Panama when he saw him. Steve, flesh and blood, standing there in ungodly temperatures with a fucking brown leather jacket on and aviators looking like a god right out of a WWII magazine. Bucky’s wounds had healed, his shifting long since back. He walked up to Steve in his male form, no smile, no relief that he was alive. Steve had found him—probably through a mutant tracker—and that in itself was dangerous. Caliban was dead, but that didn’t mean all the other trackers were along with him. Bucky wasn’t sure if Steve was here because he wanted to be, or because of something more sinister.

“Hey,” Bucky said.

“Hey.”

“You’ll die of a heat stroke in that.” Bucky pointed to the jacket. He didn’t dare touch. His desires for Steve never waned. His body tingled, begging to be closer. He wouldn’t budge. Steve didn’t want him. He’d made that clear the day he left Bucky in Mexico and never looked back.

“You’ve got two arms.”

“It’s only an issue when I’m in my true form. I do okay without it.” Bucky bounced on the balls of his sandals. He bit his tongue, trying to think of something to say or do. “The arm worked, huh?”

“They tried to isolate your mutation to replicate it in an army. They almost did it, too. But under some mysterious circumstances all the samples and findings were destroyed.”

“Jesus. One of me’s bad enough.”

“One of you is just the right amount,” Steve said. “Can we talk?”

Bucky followed Steve over to a shaded cantina. They ordered drinks and sat across from each other at the table. Steve finally took his jacket off. Bucky was relieved. Just staring at it was making him sweat. So Steve wasn’t here to finish the job. Excitement raced in Bucky’s veins. He tried to contain it, but he was vibrating.

“I know it’s been awhile, but I had to do some thinking.” Steve paused when the bartender brought them their drinks. He smiled politely, a quick thanks in Spanish and then he turned to Bucky again. “I don’t care about your gender, Bucky. It was _never_ about that.”

“But it could’ve been,” Bucky said

“Don’t, hold on. Just let me talk for a minute.”

Bucky kept his mouth shut.

“Yeah, you lied, yeah, you took the decision away from me, but—you’re right—I would’ve never let a guy in the way I let you in. And it’s not even that I’m uncomfortable with the idea. I just never thought I could _be_ that way.”

Bucky bit his lip. He didn’t want to hear a straight man’s excuse for why he didn’t want Bucky anymore. He’d already got the message for three months. Loud and clear. The anticipation in Bucky’s veins was slowing. A crushing, dark depression was looming. Oppressive clouds on the horizon.

“Bucky, I can’t stop thinking about you. And yeah—I’m scared and I don’t know what I’m doing but—but I wanna try. I mean, if you wanna try. I know it’s been awhile but—I wanna know Bucky. I fell for Jamie. Maybe her other half’s not so different.”

Bucky licked his lips, sitting up. He reached for his drink so as to not reach for Steve’s hands and make a fool of himself. Steve had needed time, and in that time, he’d still found himself drawn to Bucky. A warmth radiated inside him, it bubbled up, wetting his eyes and bringing a smile to his face. He nodded, still trying to figure out what to say.

“I’m still Jamie. Honestly, when I was with you, I learned about myself too. About how—I like being a girl too, Steve. Like—I’ll walk around here a lot as one and I love it, it just feels right? Like that’s me. But sometimes I just need to be a guy too. I don’t have a specific gender, I mean, well, I’ve got a biological one—but that’s not my identity. I’ve been researching it a lot.”

“You’re losing me.”

“I’m not completely a man, but I’m not completely a woman either. I’m just—both of them. Always. I’ll still be Jamie sometimes—if that’s okay. Cause I grew to really adore her.”

Steve smiled. “Me too.” He grabbed Bucky’s wrist, offering a gentle squeeze. “But I wanna adore Bucky too.”

Bucky’s eyes rounded. Never would he have thought something like this was possible. He’d been abandoned, rejected and cast aside—just like he’d always been. His family left him, the government left him, Logan and Xavier left him. Steve left him. What had Bucky expected except what always happened? And yet, here Steve was, with a little smile flirting on his lips and his fingers wrapped around Bucky’s wrist.

“So we start over?” Steve asked. “If you’ll have me?”

Bucky licked his lips, nodding. A simple yes couldn’t convey how he felt inside. His heart was beating again, true and steady. It’d been scattered across Mexico, broken in Kansas, and betrayed in DC, but now—maybe it could finally heal. Bucky was at least hopeful for that.

“You wanna—come over? Panama isn’t exactly the best place for guys to hold hands but, it’s not so bad. Just—inside the home is safer.”

“You honestly think I’m intimidated by homophobes?”

Bucky snorted. “No, I don’t think you are. I just don’t wanna provoke a fight I know I’d win.”

“How noble.” Steve slipped off the barstool, gulping his drink back. He paid for the drinks and together they made their way toward Bucky’s apartment.

It wasn’t the most glamorous of places. The crumbling green walls could use a paint job and it was too hot, but it had large windows to the outside and a balcony. Bucky liked to keep the door open for the breeze. It was home at least. It’d been nice to put roots down somewhere. He practiced Spanish with a teen he’d befriended after he helped the kid chase away bullies from school. In turn, Bucky offered out his protection to make sure the teenager never got bullied again on his way home. He’d even made friends with one of the fruit sellers in the market. She always flirted with Bucky even though she was almost three times his age and it was a wonder she was so healthy. Bucky liked her though. He’d mourn her when she finally died.

“I like it,” Steve said. He bumped into the iron bedpost, stepping back like he’d been burned.

Bucky opened the balcony door to let more breeze inside. He sat on the bed in the middle of the room. It was a single room with a bathroom and then everything else all in one room, but Bucky didn’t need too much space.

“Can I?” Steve nudged the bed.

“Oh! Yeah, absolutely.”

They sat in an awkward silence for a few minutes. Bucky tried to spark up conversation, but when the question led with, _so the weather today_ , he knew it wasn’t heading where he needed it to go. He let the silence ring in their ears.

“I’m still sorry, for lying to you.”

“Don’t be, it’s all over with now.” Steve waved it off. He lounged on the bed, yawning. “This is at least more comfortable than the beds in some of those motels, huh?”

“Oh man! Do you remember the one with the rusty coil that poked me?”

Steve smiled, nodding. “I thought you’d need a tetanus shot after that.”

“Sometimes being a mutant isn’t the worst. No tetanus shots for me.”

“Yeah.”

The conversation died again. Bucky wanted to scream. Why had it become so hard now? They’d never had issues before.

“Truth for truth?” Bucky asked.

“Sure.”

“I still love you.”

“Yeah—I still love you too,” Steve said.

“So what’re we doing? We’re not strangers. I can shift into her and we can just keep going.”

“No, I told you—I need to know Bucky now. You said it. You’re not just one, but both. So let me love both.”

“But we’re the same person!”

“I know that! But it’s not fair to your male side that I neglect it and just spend time with Jamie!”

Bucky’s eyes widened. He hadn’t expected such an honest and—truthfully—beautiful answer. Steve recognized Bucky as both male and female. Bucky didn’t need to justify himself.

“So, then what do we do now?” Bucky asked.

“Come here.” Steve reached out. Bucky hesitantly crawled into Steve’s arms. It was much too hot to cuddle, but the intimacy felt nice. It’d been so long. Skin on skin soothed Bucky’s soul. He closed his eyes, breathing in sweat and skin and _Steve_.

Steve played with Bucky’s hair, stroking his figures back and forth. He shifted, and Bucky prepared for him to change his mind and eat his words, but then he settled again. They lay there, sweating and breathing, but nothing else.

Bucky didn’t mind the silence now. It wasn’t really even silence. Birds were outside, bikes with rusty chains. He heard marketplace chatter and a clatter of metal pans with food.

“What made you pick Panama?”

“It’s got giant cities, small towns, good weather and no one really gives a shit about me.”

“Lots of places have giant cities and small towns, Bucky.”

“I know. I think I just liked it because it seemed—magical? This whole other world that America is oblivious to. I don’t know. I just picked it to run away.”

Steve stopped petting Bucky’s hair. He heaved a deep sigh, but he didn’t push Bucky away. Bucky was so scared he would. They lay in silence and it was then that Bucky realized it wasn’t just him. Steve was clearly fighting with what to say or do too.

Bucky sat up, hovering over Steve. He looked down, his gaze dipping to Steve’s lips. Steve’s did the same. He parted his, and Bucky leaned forward. The kiss wasn’t easy. Steve’s lips were frozen and Bucky didn’t dare use tongue. He made sure not to moan or push his bristly face too hard against Steve’s. He pulled back, searching Steve’s eyes for answers they didn’t want to give.

“I’m sorry.” Steve’s eyes watered up. “I thought it’d be easier because I know I love you. But—I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Nothing is.” Bucky sat back. “You’re straight. You can’t help it anymore than I can.” Defeat crushed Bucky’s heart, yanking it out to sea for the sharks. He let out a shaky breath and stared at his fingers. “We at least tried, right?”

“What? N-no. Bucky, I’m not giving up. I know I love you. But I think it’s—wait.” He sat up, cupping Bucky’s face. “The color’s all wrong. Your hair too.”

“What?”

“You’re not _you_ , Bucky. Let me see you.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. He scooted back, sucking his lips in and running his tongue along them. Steve wanted to see _him_. Blue, monstrous, inhuman. He shifted, looking away in shame. His hair grew, curtaining his face, his eyes yellowed and scales adorned his body. He heard Steve gasp and braced himself for the worst. He felt warmth on his arm stump. He snapped his eyes open.

Steve’s face was crinkled, brows pulled in, mouth open. Anguish hovered around his skin. He ran his fingers along the scarring from when Caliban had seared the wound closed.

“It’s ugly. I know.”

“No—Buck—no. It’s—it’s my fault.”

“Steve—”

“I did this to you. If I’d never—”

“I’d be dead if it wasn’t for you!” Bucky jerked his arm stump away. He held it with his other arm, a desperate attempt at shielding it from Steve’s eyes. It was useless. Steve moved closer. He wrapped Bucky up in his arms, pulling Bucky’s back to his chest. Bucky went pliant, dropping his head forward.

“I like the way you feel like this. You’re skin’s so strong.”

Bucky sighed. He leaned back in Steve’s arms. “I’m a monster.”

“No you’re not. You’re a work of art. All these ridges, these little designs.” Steve traced along Bucky’s scales. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this.”

“I can only be a man like this.”

“I don’t think I care.” Steve kissed Bucky’s shoulder. Once. Twice. He held Bucky firmer, pushing out his legs and wrapping them into Bucky’s. “God—I love you.”

Bucky laughed. It’s airy quality surprised him. His chest felt lighter. Nothing was weighing down against it anymore. His ribs expanded and he sucked in a deep breath. He tingled all the way down to his cock. Steve knew what he was now. Nothing needed to be hidden or avoided. He arched his back, thrusting his hips into Steve. Steve growled, nibbling on Bucky’s exposed shoulder.

“Just like last time, huh?” Bucky said. He reached a hand up to fist into Steve’s hair. “We just meet and we’re already fucking.”

“Who says we have to be like everyone else?” He turned Bucky, grabbing him by the hips. Bucky straddled Steve, smiling. He was blue-skinned, male and hard. But Steve didn’t care. He wanted Bucky like this. His own cock stirring in his tightening jeans. Bucky laughed again at the elation. Someone wanted _him_. Not just Jamie—not a fake face Bucky wished he had. _Him_.

Bucky kissed Steve again, and this time it was warm, welcoming and wet. Steve’s tongue slipped into Bucky’s mouth, his body rocking forward with an intensity he’d never used on Jamie.

Bucky pushed back, nibbling on Steve’s lips with his fangs, just enough to make Steve hiss. He ran his hands down Steve’s chest before clutching at his shirt and ripping it away. Steve gasped, looking up in astonishment.

“Mutants.” Bucky shrugged.

“Mutants.”

Steve pulled Bucky’s face to him again. He pulled them both down, Bucky atop him, still straddling. He rocked up, his cock pushing against Bucky’s. Bucky reached down, running a hand over it. Steve froze, hissing again.

“This—I want this about you. Not me.” Steve licked his swollen lips, breathing hard. “Please? I wanna make you come. If, if that’s okay? It’s not dangerous is it?”

Bucky chuckled, kissing Steve’s lips, his nose and then his chin. “Not anymore. If I come, I lose control and shift into this. But we’re already there.”

Steve hummed. He tugged on Bucky’s shirt, biting his lip.

“You want this off me?”

Steve nodded, blushing.

Bucky slipped out of his shirt, tossing it aside. Steve’s hands wandered along the scales. He trailed a thumb over a nipple and Bucky arched into it.

“You like this?”

“It’s sensitive.”

“Good.” Steve smiled, raking his fingers down Bucky’s torso. “God I love this skin. Fuck, is your dick scaled too?”

Bucky arched a brow. “You—hold on straight boy.” He laughed, undoing his pants. “Why, what’d you do if it was?”

“I’d suck you off so fast.” Steve pushed Bucky onto the bed. He kissed down Bucky’s sternum before trailing a tongue over a nipple. He sucked on it, his fingers still wandering. Bucky grabbed his head, holding him there. It felt so good, someone touching _him_ like this. There was no fear, no hesitation. Steve was all here. No reservations.

Steve’s hand slipped into Bucky’s shorts, gasping. “Oh my God—it is.”

Bucky smiled, proud for once of his unique physique. He helped Steve get him naked and then wrapped his thighs around Steve’s head while he took Bucky into his mouth. It was clear he was a novice. His teeth bumped into Bucky’s shaft, he made a lot of gagging sounds. But he seemed to enjoy it, figuring it all out. He trailed his tongue along the scales that tapered to Bucky’s tip, rubbing his tongue along the slit.

“Oh! Oh that’s good, Steve.” Bucky laced his fingers into Steve’s hair, tugging when it felt too good. Steve’s mouth was hot and eager. His inexperience delighted Bucky. He’d been the one to bring the great Captain America to his knees. It was Bucky’s own private joke and he’d never tell Steve it.

Steve kissed up the side of Bucky’s cock before placing a wet kiss right on the tip. He hummed, his lips vibrating and sending little jolts of pleasure right into Bucky’s balls. Bucky arched, squeezing his legs around Steve’s head.

“U-use your hand too. Just play with the tip and use your hand.”

Steve followed his directions. He pumped his fist around the base, his tongue flicking out over the tip. He sucked on the tip, looking up at Bucky for approval. Bucky wanted to paint him with his come. Swollen red lips, thick dark lashes. Bucky wanted to _ruin_ this man.

“K-keep that—ah—Steve don’t stop don’t stop!” Bucky’s abdomen clenched, his thighs and dick tingling. He sucked in a breath before yanking his hips back into the bed. “I wanna come on you! I’m gonna come—ah—please baby.”

Steve stopped. He dropped to his knees on the floor and looked up at Bucky, licking his lips. Bucky pumped his hand quickly over his cock. His come spurted out, body warm and convulsing. Come hit Steve’s cheek, his lips and nose. He licked at it, and it was goddamn most beautiful thing Bucky had seen in his whole life. Steve wasn’t a pro by any means at giving head, but he listened to Bucky and did what Bucky liked. That was what made him all the more beautiful.

Bucky fell back on the bed, panating. Steve wiped his face off with Bucky’s shirt and curled up next to Bucky.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Steve said. He kissed Bucky’s shoulder and then traced the ridges of the scales there with his canines.

Bucky snorted. “You wanna do it again?”

“One day. Right now I wanna spread your legs and fuck you.”

Bucky rolled over, getting onto his knees. “Eat it then, Steve.”

“ _God_ , you’re filthy.” Steve smacked Bucky’s ass, a playful little sting that went right to Bucky’s cock.

Bucky relaxed, shivering when Steve’s tongue met his ass. He arched down, pushing against Steve’s face. Steve knew what he was doing better with this. He slipped his tongue inside Bucky, flattening it and running it along Bucky’s core. He reached his hand between Bucky’s thighs and pressed along his perineum. Bucky was already shaking, his eyes rolling back into his head. Steve would be the greatest fuck he’d ever have in his life.

Steve circled Bucky’s rim with his tongue, a finger slipping inside and pumping in and out. He sucked along the rim, kissing and nibbling Bucky’s asscheeks. His finger curled, swirling inside to press against Bucky’s prostate.

“Oh _fuck_!” Bucky dropped his face into the bed, groaning.

Steve laughed. He grabbed Bucky’s ass, squeezing hard enough to dig his nails in. Bucky leaned back into his hands, wiggling his hips for more.

“Turn over,” Steve said.

Bucky did. Steve grabbed his legs, placing them out to the sides. He walked on his knees between them and pumped at Bucky’s half-hard cock a few times. Bucky meweled. He wanted to slam his legs shut around Steve.

“I love your dick,” Steve laughed, “and I never thought I’d ever say somethin’ like that.”

“Guess I’m special, huh?” Bucky bit his bottom lip, his eyes hazy and begging for more of Steve.

Steve trailed his hands along Bucky’s ribs and up to his chest. He traced the pattern of scales, bringing his fingers over Bucky’s nipples again.

“S-Steve.”

“Shhh.” Steve fingered at one nipple while leaning over to suck at the other. He chewed softly on it, enough to pull tiny jolts of pain but not enough to actually _hurt_ , if that made any sense. It only slightly did to Bucky. He’d never felt so good before. He’d never, _made love_ before. Jobs, assignments, seductions. And he never came with those people. He’d gotten to come with Steve. It’d been his first time. That in itself made this so special to him. Steve kissed along from one pec to the other before scooping Bucky’s other nipple into his mouth. He flicked his tongue out, circling and circling.

Bucky whined, cupping Steve’s head. “Y-ya know, if you like boobs all you have to do is ask me to change into Jamie.”

Steve lifted up, kissing Bucky’s lips. “But I like Bucky just fine too. But I’ll be more than happy to play with her pretty breasts too.” He kissed Bucky again before trailing back down to Bucky’s chest, licking over each nipple and then trailing down further till he was nestled between Bucky’s thighs again. He lifted Bucky’s legs up, holding Bucky in place with one arm and licked at Bucky’s ass again.

“Oh fuck, I can’t wait like this, Steve.”

“Yes you can,” Steve said. He licked curiously at Bucky’s ass, nibbling every so often on asscheeks. If Bucky learned anything about Steve today, it was that Steve was downright dirty, but also a giver. His own cock remained hard and dripping enough precome to stain his jeans right through. Bucky watched the little spot grow larger and larger as Steve continued licking Bucky’s hole and fingering him open.

“Do you have a condom?” Bucky asked.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” That earned a bite to his ass.

“Ow! I mean—ah fuck—did you really plan this or? I mean, if you have one?”

“I just wanted to be prepared.” Steve pulled several condoms out of his pocket.

“Oh! More than one!”

Steve smiled. “I’ve got an ass too, Bucky.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. He hadn’t really given it much thought, positions. He’d just assumed Steve would top because this wasn’t something Steve was used to. Bucky hadn’t entirely been wrong.

“Y—oh God—you’re good with that? So soon?”

Steve nibbled on Bucky’s ass again. He dropped Bucky’s legs but kept two fingers inside Bucky, slipping them in and out. His body was flushed red and sparkling from sweat. Bucky could only imagine how he looked, sweaty and blue. Probably like a wild animal. He hoped Steve found him pretty still.

“Why not? Just go slow with me and we’ll be fine.”

“You wanna fuck all night? Cause that’s what’s gonna happen if we keep switching.”

“Yup.” Steve finally unzipped his pants and stepped out. Bucky watched him roll out the condom onto himself and opened another little packet of lube. Bucky smiled, he was probably pink in the face despite his blue tone. Steve really had come prepared. He’d _thought_ about it, and that really spoke more to Bucky than he thought it would.

Steve crawled over to Bucky, letting Bucky set his thighs around Steve’s hips and hold him close. He angled himself before pushing at Bucky’s hole, slow. Bucky tensed up, a natural instinct with anything going inside him there.

“You okay?” Steve asked.

“Mhm.”

Steve let Bucky pull him inside, taking it slow. Steve kept his thrusts slow and easy, silent except for the creak in in the bed and the rustle of the sheets.

“I like this part,” Bucky said.

“What part?”

“The part where I start relaxing. It’s not just there, it’s all over. Like I’m in warm water.”

“That sounds amazing.”

“I won’t lie Steve, it can hurt, but I won’t let it hurt you.”

Steve smiled. “I trust you, Bucky.”

“Good.” Bucky couldn’t open his eyes. He liked how Steve had him by the hips, slow and easy entering him and pulling back. Steve’s cock wasn’t actually all that intimidating despite being Captain America’s. It was circumcised, which wasn’t surprising to Bucky considering America’s obsession with the procedure (though Bucky wasn’t). It wasn’t skinny, it wasn’t long. It was just...right? Bucky laughed, rolling his eyes despite them still being closed. He was fixated on Steve’s cock a little too close for comfort.

Steve kissed him, unhurried, like the rhythm of his hips. They lulled into each other, low tide, a lazy Sunday, whatever metaphor Bucky could think of. Bucky trailed his fingers from Steve’s shoulder blades down to his ass and squeezed. Steve growled softly, a playful nip on Bucky’s bottom lip. They didn’t stop kissing.

Bucky slipped his fingers between Steve’s cheeks, fingering Steve’s hole. Steve gasped into the kiss, his hips snapped forward. Bucky kept fingering. Steve squirmed, letting out little whimpers between kisses. His hips now thrusting forward faster, eager.

“You like this?” Bucky asked with his lips against Steve’s. Steve opened his eyes, blue swallowed by black pupils. He nodded, breathless. “Where’s some lube? I wanna get in you.”

Steve bit Bucky’s shoulder while he went to grab another packet. He gave it to Bucky and readjusted their bodies. He spread his legs, pushing himself further inside Bucky. Bucky couldn’t get deep, but he could at least let Steve feel a taste.

They went back to kissing, Steve’s body radiating heat and anticipation. Bucky slipped his finger inside Steve, laughing when Steve whined into the kiss and bit down on Bucky’s lip. Bucky pulled back, looking at the other. Steve’s face was flushed red, his chest, his neck. All such pretty shades of red. He looked up at Bucky with parted swollen lips, a hazy gaze and trembling breath.

“You want more?”

Steve nodded.

“Turn over. I’ll get you to come.”

Steve pulled out. He dropped his face onto the bed, ass up. Bucky crawled between Steve’s legs. It was harder with one arm, but Bucky wouldn’t let that stop him from getting Steve to come. He’d been so patient this entire time, giving Bucky his all. Bucky would return that favor.

Bucky slipped his finger in again. He leaned over Steve, kissing his shoulders, his ribs. Steve rocked back into Buck, breathing heavy.

“This okay?”

“Yes—fuck yes.” Steve wiggled his ass and Bucky got the hint, laughing.

Bucky took his time with Steve, careful to do anything that would make Steve clamp up. Bucky remembered his first time, a drunken fat man who didn’t care how Bucky felt as long as he got off. Bucky bit his lip, anger bubbling inside. He’d been a pawn to the American government, a clever tactic. Now he was free. He’d never have to see the CIA again, that drunken fat politician who the Republicans needed to win a fucking vote from. It was over.

“Bucky?”

Bucky blinked, startled. He looked down, realizing he’d stopped moving entirely.

“Did—did I do something wrong?”

“What? No—no, Steve!” Bucky dropped his finger, his face falling. He’d killed it. Steve had been so _good_ with Bucky and Bucky didn’t even have the respect to pay it forward. Bucky bit the inside of his cheek, tears welling.

“Hey,” Steve crawled over to Bucky on his knees. He took Bucky into his arms and stroked his hair. “Talk to me?”

“I don’t wanna ruin this.”

“This can wait. You matter more.”

Anger bubbled inside. Steve was the very definition of putting others before himself. Bucky knew how it felt to be used. He didn’t want Steve to be used by him. Bucky shook his head, wiping tears from yellow eyes. He sighed. Steve watched, patient and his face kind. Bucky didn’t deserve him, but he knew he was too selfish to try to let someone else have him.

“I wanna keep going. We can talk later.”

Steve narrowed his eyes, he crossed his arms and for a long moment, everywhere he looked burned Bucky’s skin. Bucky tried to hide himself, his blue scales even flickering pale, his hair trembling as it fought to decide whether to stay long or go short.

“You promise we can talk later?”

“Yes—yes, just _please_ , I just wanna fuck you.”

Steve’s eyes widened, and then there was a laugh escaping his throat. He flushed deeper red. Bucky laughed too. He hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but that’s exactly how he felt. Steve’s ass was tight, he made pretty sounds, and Bucky knew how good it felt to take it like this. Yes, he wanted to fuck Steve. But he wanted to do it right. He morphed, skin a pale olive and hair short and brown. He had two arms now, two arms he would put to good use.

Steve furrowed his brow but he allowed himself to drop back into the bed and spread his legs.

Bucky crawled over him, kissing his face, his neck and then those pretty nipples. He slipped a finger back inside Steve, and trailed a canine over the sensitive flesh in his mouth.

“J-Jesus!” Steve grabbed Bucky’s hair, tugging. “St-stop I’ll come!”

“You don’t wanna?” Bucky blinked, tilting his head to the side.

Steve cupped Bucky’s face, chuckling under his breath. “I do. I just also think—well I’m kind of—shit.”

Bucky cocked a brow.

“I’m a little bit of a romantic and I’ve already got it in my head how nice it’d be if I came with you inside me.”

Bucky’s heart melted, a rushing river that pierced Steve’s chest to cocoon his heart. Bucky would protect that beautiful beating heart forever. Captain America was full of surprises. Bucky paused, furrowing his brow. No, Captain America wasn’t full of surprises. Steve Rogers was.

“You’re a sap,” Bucky said.

“Yeah, is that—is that okay?”

Bucky wrapped Steve’s legs around his hips, he bent forward, kissing Steve soft and whispering, “More than okay.”

“Just go slow,” Steve said.

Bucky nodded. He brought up his fingers again, slipping more than one inside Steve. Steve gasped, his head pushing back into the pillows. Bucky watched the way Steve’s tongue darted out over his lips, how his chest rose and fell. Bucky could do this for eternity if it meant watching Steve. Steve’s body orchestrated a show of its own and Bucky was certain Steve didn’t even know it. His skin trembled, goosebumps rose and fell, blush ebbed and flowed through him. Bucky knew in that moment that there was no one else as beautiful as Steve Rogers and Bucky would never want anyone else the way he wanted Steve. He’d follow Steve into hell if Steve asked it.

Bucky only stopped long enough to put a condom on and get himself lubed up. Steve watched through a hooded gaze. His body was languid, carelessly tossed among the pillows, his legs spread. Bucky wished he had any artistic talent to capture that. He slipped between Steve’s thighs, kissing him over and over until Steve’s fingers got impatient and pulled Bucky closer, rubbing their cocks together.

Bucky laughed, getting the hint. He pulled Steve’s legs around him again and pushed one over his shoulder. “It’s easier this way.”

Steve nodded, his jaw clenching.

“I won’t hurt you, Steve. It’s not supposed to hurt.”

“I know. I trust you.”

They kissed once more before Bucky pushed inside. Steve’s whole body clenched, a strangled gasp from his throat. Bucky froze, ready to pull away. He let Steve explore this new sensation, his hips in charge, just like Steve had let Bucky be in charge. Minutes ticked away, lost to them as Steve played with pulling Bucky in and pushing him out. They weren’t pretty like this, limbs tossed around, no rhythm to be made. But Bucky didn’t care. Steve was learning his own body and that was something Bucky never got to experience. He’d never take that away from Steve.

Steve found that he liked being on top. The angle, apparently. He rode Bucky, flicking his hips in slow, pointed maneuvers. Bucky held Steve’s hips, watching his lover’s tits bounce and that body continue to paint itself pink.

Bucky took Steve’s cock in his hand, pumping as Steve thrust. Steve’s whines mixed with Bucky’s gasps. They found a rhythm like this, Steve fully in control and Bucky just following along. That’s how Bucky liked it.

“Bucky I’m gonna—hah—I’m gonna—”

Bucky worked Steve through his orgasm, watching how Steve’s body bloomed red, how his cock jerked and forced come out. It splattered against Bucky’s shoulders and chest. The heat around Bucky’s cock clamped and Bucky whined, pushing his head back. He wanted to come again too. Steve slowed down, balancing with his hands atop Bucky’s sweaty chest. He gasped, chest heaving.

“S-Steve?” Bucky didn’t want to ruin this, but he _wanted_ to come. “I wanna come too.”

Steve laughed, nodding. “Where do you want me?”

“In me.”

Steve slipped off Bucky’s dick, and grabbed a condom. Bucky was loose and ready and Steve slipped in with ease. Bucky didn’t want slow pleasant sex. He pulled Steve into him, harsh and fast. Steve snapped his hips violently, their bodies slapping loudly into the room. Bucky came not soon after, crying out and biting into Steve’s shoulder till it bled. His body shivered, turning from pale to blue and his hair growing. Steve gasped, muttering about something being _beautiful_ but Bucky cried out too loud to hear it.

Steve held Bucky to his chest after, both breathing loud, both a sticky mess. Panama wasn’t known for cool weather and the fan above them didn’t do much to cool their bodies. But Bucky didn’t want to move away.

He turned in Steve’s arms, slipping a leg between Steve’s and nuzzled Steve’s nose. “You think I’m pretty like this?”

Steve nodded, kissing Bucky’s lips.

“Even though I’m not a girl?”

Steve nodded again.

“You swear? Cause—cause I’m in love with you, Steve Rogers,” Bucky could feel his muscles shiver, ready to run and blend into the world to be lost again, “and I ain’t never gonna find someone like you again.”

Steve moved closer, nuzzling Bucky’s scaly skin. He breathed in deep, scooching ever closer. He hummed and then went still. “I love you too.”

Bucky smiled, relaxing back into Steve. He reached back with his arm, curling his fingers into Steve’s hair. Steve nuzzled Bucky’s neck, eyes closed.

“You ready to sleep or we gonna fuck more?” Bucky asked.

“Mmmm, we’re gonna fuck all night.”

“Good.”

* * *

They’d gathered up who they could. Tony Stark, in his shining armor, Clint Barton and his bow with some girl named Kate. Natasha Romanov. Bucky knew a lot about her.

Bucky sat as Jamie, long legged, hair perfect and skin radiating. He had a date—afterall—tonight. Though, one his date would eventually come to regret. It’d been all part of their plan, and now it was going to finally work after months of planning.

Steve took Bucky by the hips, kissing him. Bucky pushed his breasts against Steve’s chest, and Steve hummed. He traced Bucky’s cleavage, smirking. “You’re a tease, Buck.”

“It was your plan.”

“Uh—hey—PDA makes people uncomfortable!” Tony said. “We ready?”

Kate laughed while Natasha smirked.

“Be safe,” Steve said, kissing Bucky again. “You signal and we go in.”

Bucky nodded. He’d be perfectly safe. Legends among men were watching over him tonight.

As he walked in to greet his date, _Secretary of State Ross_ , he smiled back at Steve, waving. And Steve waved back.

They’d save the rest of the mutants from Ross and they’d break the shackles off the enhanced. Just like they’d planned. Then he and Steve would go to that cabin at the Grand Canyon where instead of ending life, Steve would start a new one with Bucky.

Then they’d let their legends turn to myth and disappear from the world, having done enough for it. To finally be together.

**End**

* * *

 

 

This is a portrait of "Jamie" 

**Author's Note:**

> Add us on tumblr! Thanks for reading!  
> [l1av](http://buckmebxrnes.tumblr.com/)  
> [moony](https://cobaltmoonysart.tumblr.com/)


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